


The Lallybroch Job

by SuhailaUniverse



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Heist AU, The Lallybroch Job, multiple characters, suhficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-04-27 19:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuhailaUniverse/pseuds/SuhailaUniverse
Summary: Claire Beauchamp, a highly experienced art thief, comes across one job that has the potential of turning her life and everything around it, upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

## Chapter 1.

 

_Lallybroch, 1949._

 She circled the glass casing in the centre of the large drawing room, eyes darting over it to and fro. It had been well secured. She’d been expecting that. The band drew out one long melodious tune after another as guests explored what was to be a rare glimpse of Lallybroch Manor.

The owner was a recluse that no one had seen in years, following the end of the war. When word got out that he’d be hosting a charity ball on his family’s ancient estate, Britain’s elite waited with baited breath to see if their names would be included on the exclusive list. She’d found her way on it, though not strictly in an orthodox fashion one would say.

The Manor itself was beautiful. Expanded over time, it stood a beautiful three-story monolith in the countryside. Far removed from prying eyes, one could easily find solitude within the vast estate. She could see the appeal of it, but never felt its allure.

“Have you ever seen anything as beautiful?” asked a squat, elderly gentlemen standing beside her.

She looked at the rare Scotch pearl necklace, safe in its display case, its pure gold clasp gleamed in the candlelight. “Not in a very long time,” she replied, honestly.

“The most exquisite piece,” said the man reverently, “and yet oddly not one of the items up for auction. Shame,” he finished, wandering away.

“Shame, indeed,” she said to herself, hiding her grin in her champagne glass.

***

Jamie  _hated_ parties. Of that he had no doubt. All the preening and prancing about, the counterfeit laughter and contrived conversation. He didn’t like them when he was a lad, and he liked them even less as a man. But he knew their necessity and - reluctantly admitting to himself - their benefits too.

_“Jamie, my sweet boy, one day ye’ll come to understand,”_ his father would say to him, whenever he got into one of his stubborn moods,  _“we all have our parts to play. It may seem frivolous to ye now, but there will come a time when real good can come from this.”_

He watched as the masses around him moved from one room to another; one minute dancing downstairs, the next discussing one of his mother’s paintings upstairs. His family owned a large collection of artwork, amassed over the years by generations of Frasers; they’d built a impressive collection envied by many.

“Are ye alright, lad?” his godfather’s voice came from behind him.

“Aye, I just… Dinna like seeing them paw at mam’s things like they’re doing,” he said quietly, taking a sip of his whisky.

“I ken that,” Murtagh said, watching as an old lady ran a finger along a portrait frame. “Ye just have to keep reminding yerself its for a good cause. And if this besom touches that frame one more time, I’m likely to take yer father’s dirk and—”

“Who is that,  _a goistidh_?” Jamie interrupted suddenly. Murtagh followed Jamie’s gaze to a woman wafting through the room.

Jamie’s heart gave one solid thump, as his stomach dropped. She wore a white satin gown that seemed tailor made for her body alone, her hair loose and carefully swept to the side. He watched as she went from one piece of art to another, taking her time at each, and thought to himself that she was the piece of art. Nothing in the room or gallery in the world could compare.

“Ah, aye, weel according to her invitation, that would be Elizabeth Lamb. I dinna ken all that much about her other than she knows her art.”

“Aye,” Jamie said, sounding far away to his own ears. Just then a waiter tapped Jamie on the shoulder; it was time for the toast.

***

He was younger than she’d expected, watching as he took to the little stage that had been erected for the band to give his speech. And judging by the murmur coming from the women beside her, she wasn’t the only one who found him disconcertingly dashing. Tall, with broad shoulders, the tux he wore became him wonderfully. His long hair swept back neatly into a bun giving her an unhindered glimpse at the playful smile that lurked in the corner of his mouth as he lightly wrapped his glass with a knife to gain everyone’s attention. His presence was sufficiently commanding that this was entirely unnecessary.

“Good evening, everyone,” his soft Scottish burr boomed around the room, “and thank you all for coming! As ye well know, we gather here tonight for a cause that is dear to me. To raise money needed to help renovate the hospital in Edinburgh and to build a wee clinic closer to home, here in Broch Mordha. Medicines, equipment and staff being in short supply, we have to do all we can for those that need what help we can give. So, ladies and gentlemen, have some drinks, loosen those purse strings and let’s see what the night will bring!  _Slainte_!” he finished to general applause and laughter.

“Bring  _you_ straight to my bed, I’d say,” whispered a woman to her sniggering companion behind Elizabeth. Oddly, she felt mildly piqued by the bawdy talk, but, _I can’t blame them_ , she thought watching him; the easy way he smiled, the way the light played off his scruff and the confident way he carried himself. He was very comfortable in his skin that was for sure. People just seemed to gravitate towards him.  _You’ll be beating them back with a broom all night, my lad._

She shook off thoughts of the young man, angry with herself for getting so easily distracted.  _Focus, dammit!_  she thought, scanning the room once more. There was security everywhere, six guards at least in the exhibition room alone. There was no way of getting to her prize while it was still on display. She needed to get a better feel for the Manor’s layout. She’d already gotten a pretty good idea about the first 2 floors where the party guests had been permitted to go. What she needed now was to get on the third floor. How, was going to be the challenge.

***

Slipping away had been surprisingly easy, what with all the guests moving about. All she had to do was time the guards doing their rounds and get rid of the one who stood at the foot of the stairs, while everyone was too busy to notice. Her chance came as their young host began giving brief descriptions of the pieces up for auction.

“Ye can’t go up here, madam,” the guard said as she made her way toward him.

“Yes, I know,” she replied, smiling coquettishly, “I’m only looking for the ladies room, perhaps you could help me?” She came level to him, and before he could answer she grabbed him by the shoulder, feigning a dizzy spell. “My… think I may have had one too many glasses of champagne!”

He looked alarmed at her unexpected turn, and hovered awkward, unsure whether to guide her to a chair, carry her to one or call for help. Seeing his indecision, she sighed internally and pointed to a small alcove just off to the side of the second floor landing. “Are ye alright ma’am?” he kept asking anxiously. She nodded sitting down, keeping her hand around his neck, so he didn’t see when she exposed the tiny needle hidden in her ring. She deftly jabbed him in the back of the neck, just above his hairline. It didn’t take long for the drug to kick in. He began swaying almost immediately. She hadn’t thought her concoction would work quite so quickly; his stomach emitting a rather loud and unbecoming gurgle.

“Ummm… you feeling alright?” Elizabeth asked, knowing the answer.

“Apologies madam, something I ate doesn’t seem to be agreeing with me,” he said, turning green. He half doubled over. “Perhaps, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” and not waiting for a reply he turned on his heels and hastily went in search for a bathroom.

“Sorry mate,” she said quietly, standing up and straightening her dress, “you’ll feel better in a few hours. I  _hope_.”

She made her way quickly upstairs, scanning the floor for any weak points - which she frustratingly couldn’t find. She headed down the hall, snippets of laughter from below drifting up to her, to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Elizabeth slipped in, shutting the door and noise behind her and was plunged into an eerie silence. She stood a moment, back against the door, looking around at the young man’s sparsely decorated bedroom; incongruously plain compared to the lavishness downstairs. An odd pang went through her, something she’d never felt before. Why should she feel like she was trespassing? she wondered, after all, this wasn’t her first time. She shook off the feeling - she didn’t have the luxury for qualms just at the present.

Elizabeth briskly moved through the room, looking for anything that would tell her where he kept the necklace when it wasn’t on display. She’d already learned he never trusted bank vaults with anything as valuable, so he must have kept them close. The room itself was innocuous, nothing screamed out at her, but a few family photos and personal bits and bobs that seemed important to him. She’d started getting frustrated when she noticed the wood paneling along the wall to the side of the bed didn’t quite match the rest. To an untrained eye, nothing about it seemed different in any real way, but Elizabeth had been doing this long enough to notice the subtle difference in the grains that ran through it.

She ran her hand along the paneling, looking for a latch of some sort and was rewarded after a minute with a pleasant, quiet  _click_. The hidden door smoothly swung open revealing a walk in safe.

_Damn_.

She had neither the time nor the privacy required to crack the combination. She knew her absence wouldn’t go unnoticed for much longer. She also knew grabbing the necklace during the benefit would be next to impossible, but hoped she’d have figured out at least the combo to whatever safe the young man had, making her next trip to the Manor a slightly easier one.  _This job_ , she thought, irritated, _is getting more complicated than I’d like._

***

She stood alone on the balcony overlooking the pinprick garden lights that illuminated the expansive grounds. Jamie watched her, entranced by the ethereal beauty before him.  _Elizabeth Lamb_  Murtagh had said her name was.

He’d seen her glide from one room to another all night, unable to shake off the eager guests away from him long enough to talk to her. Now, she stood, deep in thought; he’d have given anything to know what that indiscernible face was thinking. Stepping out onto the balcony, her head tilted at the sound of his light footfall.

“Evening,” he said quietly.

“Hullo,” she said, flashing him a smile that made his knees turn to water.  _English, was she?_

“Umm,” he gestured at one of the glasses of champagne he held. “Thought ye might like one?” he asked, a little more nervously than he’d have liked.  _A Dhia, get a hold of yourself!_  he thought, cross with himself. She inclined her head though, in thanks, taking a proffered glass.

“You have a beautiful home,” she said, as she leaned her hip against the railing, taking a sip. He made a self deprecating gesture.

“Och, I can’t take much credit, but for the expansion to the stables, really. And it doesna look nearly as fancy when not hosting swanky benefit dinners,” he said with a laugh.

“How long have your family owned it, then?” she asked, curious.

“Oh, nigh on 200 years or so? Give or take a year or two.” He smiled, and for the first time that night, she saw the smile touch his eyes. She couldn’t help but stare, drawn in by his charming ease. She hastily looked away, hoping he couldn’t see her flush in the dim light. He leaned his forearms on the railing, looking out into the night, the sound of thunder constantly rumbled over the distant mountains. He looked like he wanted more than anything, to be anywhere but at his own party.

“Not much for these kind of things, are you?” she asked, amused. He snorted.

“Nah, never have been, really. No matter how many times my parents tried to get me to, I’d always find the first chance I got to sneak away to the stables. It isna that I  _hate_ them as such, only,” he shrugged, turning to look at her, “there isna much substance, I suppose one can say, in the interactions everyone has. I see the advantages of nights like these, what one can learn from them, but…” his voice trailed off, suddenly catching himself. “I apologize! I didna mean to prattle on so!”

“Its alright,” she assured him, in fact she found she enjoyed listening to him, his voice having a beautiful depth and lilt to it. “I’m the same, not much for frivolous small talk - and ogling men, myself,” she said, surprised she should say that to him. His shoulders tensed a moment, and she realized he took her words to mean him. “No!” she said quickly, “I didn’t mean you, not in the slightest. In fact… You’re the first I’ve spoken to that hasn’t stared endlessly at my cleavage,” she teased, making him flush, his eyes darting to her plunging neckline.  _So you can see people flush out here,_  she thought.

“Aye? Ye dinna mind my company, then?” his eyes narrowed, glinting. “I find myself genuinely honored to hear that,  _M_ …?”

“ _Miss_ Lamb.”

“Ah.”

They passed the rest of the night talking with a comfort that surprised them both. The party around them began winding down, but they hardly noticed the emptying rooms or the growing quiet. As they spoke, she found herself gravitating toward, and him to her, that before long, they were mere inches from each other.

She felt his warmth radiate off him like a furnace. The way his body moved under his tux. The lightness with which he put her at ease - and more dangerously, off guard. She found it disconcerting to say the least. Knowing that she could have spent the rest night just listening to him, she knew she had to move, break the spell she found herself under. He’d been absorbed in telling a childhood story about having successfully filled his godfather’s boots with honey and the following pandemonium that ensued as he’d been chased by an irate Murtagh - belt in hand - but what with his age and coupled by his honey-coated feet, Jamie had easily evaded his godfather up a tree. She laughed with him, the memory coming clearly to her as it did him. He was a natural storyteller.

“Well,” she said at last, not quite meeting his eye and handing him back his coat he’d draped over her shoulders earlier, “it’s getting rather late, I think perhaps I should be headed back to Inverness. Long drive and all that.”

Jamie knew the guests had taken over most of the inns in and around Inverness to attend the party. He wanted more than anything to offer up one of the many rooms the Manor sported, but knew his own sense of propriety forbade such a bold invitation so soon after a first meeting. He reluctantly took back his coat as she turned to leave.

“Wait, Miss Lamb - Elizabeth…” Jamie said, just as she reached the balcony doors, unable to let her leave just yet without asking. “When can I see ye again?”

She looked over her shoulder at him, those earnest eyes that could turn her to smoldering ash in an instant.  _Definitely getting more complicated than I’d like._

“When you least expect it, Mr. Fraser,” she replied cheekily. On impulse, she turned to him once more. She’d never know what made her say what she said next. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d herself even uttered those words out loud, yet she did now.

“And… My name’s not Elizabeth.”

And she was gone.

***


	2. Chapter 2

## Chapter 2.

 

_London._

 

 “And… You couldn’t get into the safe?” He asked sardonically.

“I’ve already told you, not in the time I had,” Claire replied with some asperity.

“I find  _that_ rather hard to believe,” he said.

 _Frank. Always the bloody skeptic,_  Claire thought. In another life, his love for history and all its secrets may have lead him down the path of noble academia. A scholar by heart, a thief by trade, Frank never let an opportunity to get his hands on all things rare pass him by. It was one of the things that initially attracted her to him - his passion. There wasn’t an artifact he didn’t know the history of, where to find it, or how to steal it. Until now. The mystery of the rare Scotch Pearl Necklace, possibly dating back to 1715, had captured Frank’s imagination like nothing had before. The romanticism surrounding it’s lore, had no real monetary value in Frank’s world - its true value was priceless. He stole to live, but he collected to satisfy his insatiable need for those stories that out-valued their artifact, and the necklace told the story of an epic love. Frank’s relentless obsession with having those bloody rare, historical artifacts had also been what drove them apart.

“How do you propose getting in there now?” he asked.

“The old fashioned way,” she replied, cocking her eyebrow at him. He snorted.

“That hardly works most of time, let alone with  _your_ track record, my darling,” he said circumspectly.

“Worked on you.”

She knew her using that particular course of action still bothered him, and truth be told, it wasn’t her favorite either nor one of her strongest of skills, but he wanted the necklace more than to let his own hangups get in the way.

“It only works if the person wants you in the first place. Does he?” he said, watching her.

She kept her face as neutral as possible, returning his stare. Answering flatly, she simply said, “Yes.”

***

From the little information Claire could glean from her young mark’s bedroom, seemed he had an interest in a particular exhibit soon to open at the Edinburgh Museum - a collection of Jacobean artifacts. Knowing what she knew of the young man, he would most likely make his visit the day after the opening Gala, under the cover of quiet anonymity. Making contact would be easy; casually bumping into him accidentally-on-purpose at the exhibit. The tricky part would be playing on his feelings. That part of the con never came easy to her. She could do it, and do it well when she had to, but that didn’t change the fact that she never truly enjoyed it.

***

Jamie roamed the gallery, not really seeing anything around him. Like all Scots, he knew the history, heard the stories and even seen his family records dating back to the ‘45 Rising. Truth was, he’d seen enough of war and carnage to know its futility. But there was one thing in particular he’d come to see that day; something history was likely never to truly value - the bravery of the thousands that fought. An exhibition by an artist that chose to remain anonymous - but to him - revering the courage, sacrifice and brutality those men paid to the lost cause.

 _“These are beautiful! Ye should really put yer name on them, not some pseudonym. Claim yer work, no?”_ he’d told her for the umpteenth time as he watched her start a new painting.

She’d snorted _. “Aye, that’s rich coming from ye!”_ She’d retorted, shaking the extra water off her brush _. “I dinna do this to be known. I dinna do it for me. I do it for our family. Our history. Ye ken that well enough, brother.”_

_“Aye. I do.”_

He walked through the galleries now, watching the visitors come and go, some truly seeing, others simply walking through. Then, his stomach dropped as he saw her, standing on her own, regarding one of the many Bonnie Prince Charlie portraits. Seemed there was one of him in every room. Every room but one.

At first he didn’t realize it was her. She seemed a vision, intent on the painting before her; her hair curled about her shoulders, her clothes mere wisps around her curves, her whiskey eyes scrunched in concentration. He debated whether to go up to her or not, not wanting to bother her, but as he saw her turn to leave, he was moving before his mind had consciously decided to. He caught up to her in three strides.

“Miss. Lamb?” Jamie said tentatively, a light hand on her elbow. She seemed a little startled at the touch, but her face broke into a heart stopping smile when she looked at him.

“Mr. Fraser! Fancy bumping into you!” she said enthusiastically. She leaned in and gave him quick pecks on each cheek. She watched a flush creep up his collar, his doubt lasting but a brief moment before he composed himself. “I didn’t expect such a lovely surprise! But, I suppose being the proud Scotsman you are, of course you’d visit the exhibition.”

He realized he was unabashedly staring. He couldn’t seem to help it. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away,  _Dhia! Get a bloody hold on yourself,_  he thought.

“Proud Scotsman, I may be, but that doesna mean I have much love for the young pretender,” he said, looking dispassionately at the portrait.

“Really?” she said, intrigued. “Didn’t expect to hear that.”

“Aye, well,” he said, a far away look on his face, “He could have been great. He had the name, the cause. The support of good men, willing to lay down their lives for him… We’ve taken a fool, and turned him into a hero.” She was taken aback by the absolute and bitter certainty with which he said it, that made her unsure how to respond.

“What makes you say that?”

He came back to her, eyes focusing on her face, and smiled. “Och, it’s nothin’. Nothin’ but a wee bit of brutal family history from the time.”

“So, if the Bonnie Prince isn’t what’s brought you here today, then what has?” She took him by the arm and steered him away from the painting. He smiled and put his hand over hers, and led her into the next room.

“Well, there’s a particular exhibit, by someone special to me. It isna like the others here today,” he gestured at a series of screeching, bloody Highlanders, slashing and being slashed in turn across muddy battlefields.

“Goodness,” she said. “Rather macabre.”

“Aye, war is and no mistake. It isna pretty, it isna meant to be. They bled and killed and lost those they loved because more than anything, they believed in the cause,” he spoke softly, making her have to step closer to hear him properly. “She didna want to romanticize their sacrifice, but show it for what it was. Brave men pushing through their fears for what they believed in.”

His eyes were intent on the bloody battlefield before them, her eyes, however, were intent on him. She watched how his eyes scanned the painting, absorbing the details. Watched how those same, earnest eyes creased with some long remembered pain. She wanted nothing more than to reach over and smooth away those lines that crinkled between his eyebrows. Instead she settled for a distraction.

“Wait,  _she_? The artist’s a woman?” She asked looking at the name signed at the bottom right hand corner -  _John Donnelly._  He laughed a deep and pleasant sound that made her smile and her grip on his arm tighten.

“Aye. My sister, Jenny. But ye didna hear it from me!” he added hastily, making her laugh outright.

“Your secret’s safe! She’s absolutely incredible, we really do need more artists like her and her eye.”

“That’s what I said!”

“But I suppose, letting her work speak for itself, has an even greater power than who put brush to canvas.”

“That’s what she said.”

***

They walked leisurely through the museum, her arm hooked with his, talking about the exhibits, and life after the war. She couldn’t help but be drawn in by him. There was a truth to him, an honesty when he spoke. She knew he wasn’t one to say anything he didn’t truly mean. And that gave her pause. How was she to deceive a man she found she’d begun deeply respecting?  _This job_ , she thought rather helplessly for what felt the umpteenth time,  _just keeps getting ever more bloody complicated_.

“So,” she said with a cheeriness she didn’t altogether feel, “Are you as artistically inclined as your sister?”

“Och, no,” he said with a laugh, “Nah, Jenny took after our mam in that regard. I dinna have the patience needed for it or draw a lick to save my own hide,” he said, ducking his head shyly.

She smiled. “So what is it that you do do, then?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Well,” he began hesitantly. “I’ve always loved to read. So much so, I started a wee publishing company here in Scotland that spans all manner of local writers and genres. There’s such a wealth of talent here that deserves the chance to be celebrated…”

He spoke with such an infectious fervor that Claire found herself inexplicably gravitating to him more than she ever intended. She hadn’t known about the publishing company, and according to Jamie that was by design, his distant cousin Rupert was the face of company. Something told her this wasn’t something he revealed all too often to many people.

“But one of my real passions,” he continued earnestly, “is working with my hands.” She couldn’t help but glance at them, powerful and far more calloused, she noticed, than was expected of a man of his birth. “I love to create, to build. Most of the buildings in and around Lallybroch were built by us.”

“I remember you mentioned you expanded your stables?” she said, the memory from the party coming back to her.

“Aye, I spent most of my childhood around the horses, riding them, caring for them. Spent a great deal with my godfather that way too. It’s an incredibly peaceful place. A place that I find most relaxes me… Especially after the war.” His voice went quiet and trailed away. She saw a shadow of pain settle in his eyes and hastily scrambled to find something to say to move him away from the subject of war.

“And the project from the benefit dinner?” she said, realizing there was far more than met the eye with the young man.

“Aye, that too. Most in Broch Mordha know my family and I, and dinna bat an eye when we come to help build the things they need.”

Neither had noticed how or when they’d walked out of the museum and wandered the streets aimlessly, arm in arm, completely lost in conversation that came easy to both of them, until a light patter of rain began. Jamie immediately took off his jacket and used it as a shield over their heads as they quickly got to some cover, the rain and laughter catching them both unexpectedly. It didn’t take long for it to start coming down relentlessly around them.

Claire leaned back against a quaint little cafe’s wall, the awning giving them some much needed shelter. Her laughter began to subside as she met Jamie’s gaze. He’d been watching her far more intently than she cared to admit she liked, his arms braced on the wall on either side of her, the echo of his own laughter still playing in his eyes. He shifted his weight, bringing himself a fraction closer to her, close enough the clouds of their breath mingled, but not close enough that he’d uncomfortably invaded her space.  _Not that I’d mind,_  she caught herself thinking. And that one thought seemed to jolt her back to herself. _Focus, Beauchamp!_  she chided herself.  _He’s just a bloody mark!_  

But even as she told herself that, she knew it was the beginning of the many lies she was about to start telling herself.

***


	3. Chapter 3

## Chapter 3.

 

 “Don’t you think yer moving a wee bit fast, lad? Ye hardly know this woman.” His uncle said for the umpteenth time.

“No,” he said patiently, as he fastened the buttons of his shirt. “But isn’t this how people get to know each other? Have dinner, talk. And I dinna need a chaperone, as much as I love ye,  _a goistidh_.”

“Aye, but this isna usual for ye. I havena seen you courting in a long time.” Murtagh watched his godson fuss with which coat to wear. The lad was nervous.

“Are ye afraid I’ve forgotten how?” Jamie said cheekily, looking at Murtagh as he moodily move through his hotel room, picking up and putting down the little figurines.

“Och, I know ye ken your way of things well enough,” Murtagh said sheepishly, giving his nephew a knowing look.

“Well, not  _that_ well, aye,” Jamie said with a wry laugh, slipping his coat on.

***

Claire had narrowed down her dress options to three, which now lay draped across her bed. She stood over them scrutinizing the pros and cons they provided - she found herself getting increasingly more nervous and not at all in the usual way she did while on a job. While all were perfectly figure hugging, the blue floral dress was by far the most modest, buttoned all the way down the front, the little red number left rather little to the imagination for Claire’s liking. But the black… Well now that was deceptively modest - while it was a boat neck dress, the back of it was left exposed, plunging down to the small of her back.

As she mulled over her choices, there was a sudden whoosh as Geillis dramatically flounced onto the bed - and dresses - lit cigarette in hand. “I dinna ken why you’re even bothering to think about this. Yer trying to seducing the lad, no? The red’s the sure fire way to get into more than just his safe,” she said with as much allure as a spit viper.

Geillis. Beautiful, cunning, dangerous Geillis. Frank’s first choice. Had she not been on a job already, Claire had no doubt she’d have been chosen for this one.

“The red doesn’t feel right. Not with him,” Claire replied flatly, as she dislodged Geillis off the black dress and held it up in front of the body length mirror.

Geillis huffed a derisive laugh. “All men are the same, sweetie. There’s only one part of their bodies they think with when a beautiful woman’s concerned. Subtlety is merely unnecessary foreplay. Randall wants this job done quick.”

But did she? Claire asked herself.

 _“When can I see ye again,”_  Jamie had asked her that rainy day beneath the awning. She’d felt her breath catch in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. She’d shivered with more than just cold.

 _“Ask me to dinner,”_  she’d replied, and even though her voice shook ever so slightly, she didn’t take her eyes from his.

He smiled, mischief dancing in his eyes as he leaned in closer.  _“Will you have dinner with me then, Sassenach?”_  she knew he’d seen the confusion flash for moment across her face at the unfamiliar word, but immediately regained her composure.

 _“I leave for London in two days,”_  she’d replied, her eyes helplessly drawn to his lips, where she saw his smile waver,  _“fancy bumping into me there?”_ The smile she was rewarded with at her words was dazzling.

 _“Aye, I would,”_ he’d whispered back.

Claire smiled at the memory and caught Geillis watching her reflection, a viper’s knowing smirk slashed across her face. “Sooo, tell me about your young mark.”

“There’s nothing to tell, really.” Claire said, rummaging through her closet for a matching pair of elbow length gloves and heels.

“Oh, I  _highly_ doubt that. Ye canna think of him, let alone speak, without blushing. He must be a real looker if he’s got you flustered.” Geillis preened as she peeled herself off the bed and extinguished her cigarette. “Clever, getting him to come to you. Always best the mark think they’re the ones doing the pursuing.”

Claire started. It hadn’t been her intention. She’d been honest about leaving Scotland. She’d gotten word Frank wanted to see her. She had just wanted a chance to see Jamie again.

“Yes, well, this is turning out to be a trickier job than I initially thought it’d be.”

***

She’d chosen the restaurant as Jamie had said he wasn’t all that familiar with post-war London these days. So she’d picked one of her favorites (and one none of the other grifters, especially Frank, knew about). She had on a flowing black overcoat, covering the plunging back of her gown, and waited outside for Jamie. She’d insisted they meet there, much to his protests he at least pick her up.

It was a little hole in the wall not many knew about, down a half lit alley off the main street. Not something you’d find if you didn’t know exactly where to look. Claire would never have known of it herself, had she not saved the proprietor’s life years earlier.

She glanced at her watch again -  _6:57pm_  - they’d agreed to meet at seven. She’d just started to worry he’d not been able to find the place using the directions she’d given him, when he rounded the corner. She didn’t bother stopping the smile that bloomed on her face, his own matching grin making her breath catch.

“You look beautiful,” He said (before he could stop himself) by way of greeting, as he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“You clean up pretty well, yourself,” she replied, not caring if her flush showed in the street lamp’s dim light. He did clean up nice; wearing a dark suit with a plain dark blue tie, his hair pulled back into a messy bun. “Find the place alright?”

“Aye - well… truth be told I had to ask for directions once, as I took the wrong turn some ways back,” he said sheepishly, making her laugh.

She took his arm and led him down the alleyway. He didn’t resist or protest, just raised an inquisitive eyebrow as she stopped in front of a nondescript door that had a simple sign that read:  _The Halfling_. She knocked twice.

A big, surly looking fellow opened the door. Jamie had half a mind to step between them, but saw the smile of acknowledgment that passed between the two.

“Alright, Angus?” she said.

“Aye, Miss Beauchamp. Been a while since we had you here,” Angus replied, softer than Jamie would’ve expected.  _Beauchamp_ , he called her? Jamie looked sidelong at his mysterious companion, her assortment of names flitting through his mind.

“Yes, well, been out of town for a bit,” she said, slipping into the tavern, pulling Jamie in along with her. Angus looked at him in surprise.

Jamie was hit immediately with a cacophony smells and sounds. Smoke hung heavy in the air as a quartet played in the corner. The smell of roasting meat and beer filled his senses. “What the hell is this place?” he said with a light laugh, a part of him knowing the answer already.

“A little hidden gem that’s managed to survive the real world,” she said teasingly. His eyes widened. A black market den. She saw uncertainty flash across his face. “It isn’t as bad as all that! The owner and I go way back. He provides where others cannot.”

Still, she saw Jamie’s eye flick around the room, taking in what had long been rationed around the country. Just before he could protest though, Claire spotted her old friend making his way in from the back. With one hand still wrapped around Jamie’s (making sure he didn’t bolt for the door), she raised her other in greeting.

“Beauchamp!” he boomed across the room, making a few heads turn.

“Colum!” she beamed back at the older man, who Jamie saw as he came level with them, walked with a rather heavy limp. Even so, he gave her a warm bear-hug, lifting her slightly off the ground, before turning to Jamie, “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Colum. This is Jamie Fraser, one of your fellow countrymen. Jamie this crusty old git is Colum Mackenzie.”

Jamie slowly extended a hand as the old man gave him a long hard look, but took his hand nonetheless. “A Scotsman ye say? Whereabouts are ye from then, Jamie?” Colum asked straightening up ever so slightly.

“A wee village by the name of Broch Mordha,” he replied curtly. Claire noting he didn’t mention from where exactly in Broch Mordha.

“Och, aye? A Highlander, then? My kin hail from a little ways north of ye, up near what was Castle Leoch,” Colum said with pride. “And how to do come to know my fair lass, here?”

“We met at a benefit dinner,” Claire quickly cut in, seeing Colum gearing up for a night of interrogation. She didn’t normally come here with company. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. “We’re starving, Colum, perhaps we can leave the questions for later?”

He and Jamie exchanged another look, before Colum nodded and led them to a table that was - from one angle - private to the rest of the diners, but from another, in full view, Claire saw, of Colum’s wee office in the back. She internally rolled her eyes, but liked the table well enough, and knew Jamie would relax too in the quiet corner.

“The usual, lass?” Colum asked.

“Yes, please!” she replied. 

As Colum stepped away to get their orders in, Claire looked over at Jamie. He’d been quiet, not tense, but wary. “He means well. He’s known me a long time and can get very protective. It isn’t often I introduce him to… well, he isn’t used to seeing me with anyone.”

Jamie nodded, helping her out of her coat. His eyes bulged for a moment at her exposed back, his ears turning bright red. She smiled to herself seeing it, as he pulled out her chair.

He truly did understand. Murtagh was his Colum. He liked that she had someone looking out for her. But he had questions,  _so many questions_ , that he didn’t even know where to begin. So, he simply asked, “Where did you two meet?” It seemed a harmless enough question, but saw her weighing what to say before she spoke.

“I was a combat nurse, in the British army,” she started hesitantly, but what was the harm? She’d brought him here and chose to show him a real part of herself. “I was stationed outside of Paris. Colum was a commander whose unit got hit hard, they were brought to our field hospital-”

“And she saved my life,” Colum said as he brought them some drinks to start. “Whisky, from the top shelf,” he said with a wink, before continuing, “I should have been dead, my legs were ruined in a blast, the doctor had given up and moved on to someone else with a better chance of survival, but  _she_ didn’t give up. Have ye seen combat, lad?” At Jamie’s grave nod, Colum continued, “Aye, I thought ye might’ve. It’s a messy business, war is. Yer never the same person you were when first you joined as that that survives it. I not only left there with my life, but I  _walked_ away, knowing I had no business doing so. I lost a leg, but she managed to save what was left of the other. I owe her a whole lot.”

“Your friendship’s just fine, Colum,” Claire said, her voice low and modest. Jamie found himself finally relaxing. A truth. Colum gave her shoulder a squeeze and left once more. “He exaggerates,” she added with a shy smile. Jamie gave her a lopsided smile back.

“I dinna think he is,” he said quietly. That shadow she saw at the museum darkened his fixtures again, making her heart clench.

“Anyways,” she said quickly, trying to think of anything to say to steer him away from whatever dark memories seemed to plague him. “As Colum was convalescing, I noticed a steady stream of officers coming in and out of the field hospital. The patients from Colum’s unit never wanting for anything, it seemed. That’s how I figured out his little set up. Apparently, he’d been smuggling contraband into his units for as long as he’d been in the army, and had it down to a very neat and organized science,” she said with a laugh, “as you can see, he’s taken his little network over into his civilian life too,” she gave a wave at the tavern.

“And I suppose you want for nothing too now?” Jamie asked his eyes twinkling with humor as they took in her dress properly for the first time.

“No, I suppose I don’t.”

They passed the rest of the evening much as they did the day they’d met at the museum. Jamie couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much. Conversation flowed as much as the whisky did, the food to Jamie’s surprise was rich and spicy. And even when he thought he couldn’t eat another bite, she went ahead and ordered dessert.  _The usual_ , again. She looked excited, like a kid in a candy store. He didn’t even know what the usual was but was excited too. It was infectious -  _she_ was infectious.

“Close your eyes,” she said as she spied something behind him. He made to turn, but she grabbed his chin, turning him back to her. “No! Just please, close your eyes? For me?” He did as he was bid, amusement written all over his face, his elbows braced on the table. He heard the clink of plates being set down in front of them and could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “alright my lad, keep your eyes closed and say “ _aaah_!”” he snorted but opened his mouth where she promptly stuffed a fork into it. His eyes shot open.

“Good God, is that…?”

“Chocolate cake! Rich, creamy chocolate cake! Colum met a confectioner whilst in France, he’s very good at keeping his connections open,” she said taking a bite of her own piece.

Jamie closed his eyes again, savoring the taste of the cake. “I canna even remember the last time I had chocolate, let alone anything like this!” Then he smelled it and he nearly moaned aloud. Opening his eyes he saw the heavy black depth of the coffee sitting beside his plate. The perfect bitter balance to cut through the sweetness of the cake. “This is just absolutely sinful,” he said taking a slow sip.

Claire beamed. She never got a chance to share this side of herself with anyone, nor had she wanted to, but seeing him find such pure joy in something so simple, made her heart beat faster. Faster still when he peered at her from above the rim of his coffee cup, cocking an eyebrow as he did.

***

The crisp, night air was a refreshing change from the smoky tavern. They strolled slowly through the quiet streets, snippets of laughter and music reaching them on the wind from nearby pubs, Jamie insisting he walk her to her flat, _“What kind of gentleman would I be if I couldn’t see you safely home, at least?”_  and if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t want the night to be over quite just yet either. And so, without a second thought, Claire led the way.

“I must say, of all the places I imagined being with you again, I somehow never thought of a smugglers den,” Jamie was saying, barely containing his amusement. She playfully tugged at his elbow, making him stumble a little.

“Stop calling it that!” she chided without heat. “It’s just a tavern… That just so happens to be owned by a lovable old geezer that knows a guy.  _Several_ other guys,” she finished with a laugh. Jamie joined in, and the sound reverberated pleasantly through her. A sound she found she’d never tire of.

“Aye, well, the man had some good whisky, I’ll give him that!”

It was good whisky. In fact it was incredible whisky. Claire felt as if she was floating rather than walking. “Did you have a good time, then?” she asked tentatively.

“Oh aye! It was unexpected at first, the tavern, but the food was excellent, the whisky of course,” he said cheekily, “yet I found myself rather taken by my dinner companion, most of all.”

She felt him watching her intently as they walked, the heat in her face rising under it, and wanted nothing more than to return the look. But knew she had been crossing every boundary she had ever set up for herself when she started this line of work. Every single rule she’d created to keep herself unattached, seemed to fall away around Jamie. And that disarmed her. Scared her. She had a job to do, a job she found herself getting more and more willingly distracted away from.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jamie asked quietly, pulling her back to the present.

_Dammit, Beauchamp! What have you let your face show this time?_

“No! Not at all. I was just… It’s not often I find myself in such earnest company,” she said honestly.

Jamie ducked his head. “Well, I dinna ken what kind of company you tend keep - other than lovable smugglers-” she lightly punched his arm, he laughed batting her hand away, “but I’d very much like this,  _us_ , to happen again. If you’re willing, that is…” He finished, uncertainty lacing his voice.

She was willing. Badly.

“I’d love that too,” she replied, and saw the tension in his shoulders ease. They walked on in a comfortable silence then.

All too quickly, Claire saw the entrance to her building loom a couple of blocks ahead and had a strong urge to just walk on past it.  _Subtlety,_ a small, almost forgotten voice echoed in the back of her mind, _keep him wanting more, you still need to find an in back to his Manor._

“Well,” she said coming to a stop by the front door. “This is me.” Jamie face fell, he looked just as disappointed as she felt.

He took in the facade of the building, it wasn’t exactly as high end as he had expected, but quite beautiful and comfortable nonetheless.

“I suppose this is goodnight, then,” he said, taking her hands in his.

“I suppose it is,” she replied, swaying ever so slightly towards him.  _Dangerous ground, Beauchamp, you’re dancing on dangerous ground._ This time it was her turn to ask, “When can I see you again.”

“Come to Lallybroch. As hard as it will be for me to top tonight, give me a chance to try?” He moved as he spoke and she found him mere inches from her. She slowly, as if drawn by a magnet, closed the small gap between them and put her forehead against his, her body seemingly having a mind of its own. She suddenly found it hard to breathe and closed her eyes.

“When?”

“Next weekend.”

“I’ll be there.”

She sighed deeply and made to take a step back, but froze as she felt his lips lightly brush hers.

“I would…” He whispered against her skin, “very much like to kiss ye. May I?”

She nodded, finding words seemed too much of an effort just then.

He gently placed his mouth against hers, a timid, chaste kiss, and one for all its softness, had her instantly yearning for more. She leaned into him, savoring his warmth. As the kiss slowly deepened, all thought rushed from her as she felt his arms tighten about her waist, her own hands rising to cup his neck, but before they could lose themselves completely, they heard a rather irritable “ _Ahem_!” from the doorway, and promptly broke apart.

Claire felt light headed and knew her face must’ve been crimson, but saw to her delight that so was Jamie’s. Peeking over her shoulder to see who had interrupted, she turned back to Jamie and simply said breathlessly, “Jack, the doorman,” who she then gave a scathing look.

Jamie gave a nervous laugh and looked tempted to reach for her again, but instead stuffed his hands deep into his pockets as if to stop himself. “I best be off. Next week then, Sassenach?”

“Next week, Jamie.” They stood awkwardly looking at each a fraction longer, before she turned on her heel and entered the building, stifling a laugh as she heard Jamie quietly ask Jack where he was and how he could get back to his hotel.

***

Claire was still smiling to herself as she unlocked her door to her flat, the memory of Jamie’s touch still bringing goosebumps to her flesh. So distracted was she, that she hadn’t noticed anyone was waiting for her, until he spoke.

“Have yourself a good evening, did you?” He said from the shadow of the sofa.

Frank.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, Jamie has no familial relation to Colum.


	4. Chapter 4

## Chapter 4.

 

 How fucking long had he been sitting there - in the dark no less - Claire wondered, her anger flaring at once by the intrusion.

“What,” Claire said between gritted teeth, “in bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Where have you been?” He asked coldly, ignoring her question.

“Working.” She still hadn’t moved deeper into the apartment. Instead, she leaned back against the front door.

“Is that right? Working all the way to your  _actual_ flat? Thought I taught you far better than that,” he said patronizingly, lighting a cigarette.

Claire let out an exasperated sigh and shrugged off her coat.  _Same old bloody cycle_. “This has gotten tiresome, Frank. This was your assignment. Insisting on this fool’s errand was your obsession, not mine,” she said, as she put her coat on a hook and flipped the lights on. He was far less menacing that way.

“Your  _assignment_ was to get the necklace, not whatever the fuck it is you’re doing now.”

His tone made her bristle at once. She stood watching him, arms crossed. “You lost the privilege to be jealous over anything I do a long time ago. When I agreed to stay, I made that very clear, Frank, and anything from there on out was my choice, whether to stay or go, would be my choice. You choose the jobs, how they get completed was up to me.”

“You never willingly, let alone gleefully, jumped at changing up jobs like this, though I suppose I always knew you had it in you to cross the necessary lines. Given the right mark,” he said, flicking ashe on to the carpet.

Claire’s anger had been steadily rising. “Get out. You’ll get your bloody, worthless necklace. But I’m done with this - with you. This’ll be my last job.”

In a flash he was on his feet rushing towards her, he grabbed her arm, hard enough to bruise it, yanking her to him. “I don’t think so. You belong to me, whether you like it or not. Or do I have to remind you, we’re still married?” He smelled of stale cigarettes and brandy, his eyes glazed with angry possession.

“Not for a very long time. You may not have signed the papers  _yet_ , but we haven’t been  _married_ for years.” Even though she could feel her panic rising, knowing the temper he had, she forced herself to stay calm. This wasn’t their first fight. “You lost your rights when I caught you fucking anything with legs and a nice pair of tits. I told you then and I’ll tell you now, I was never nor will I ever be yours. Kindly take your hand off me and get the fuck out.”

They stood nose to nose for a long moment, a battle of wills Claire knew - short of blows - she’d won years ago. Frank for all his huffing and puffing, in the end was driven by one thing, the need to own anything priceless. He could never own her, try as he might, and he knew it. He let go, taking a step back.

“Get the necklace,” was all he said as he stomped his way out of the flat.

As he reached the front door though, Claire said with an unnerving stillness over her shoulder, “I’ll get you your damned necklace. And you will sign those papers. Oh and Frank, you ever put your hands on me again, I’ll castrate you myself.”

From the look she saw crossing his face, he knew she meant it.

***

Jamie near gave himself a nosebleed trying to think of a way to top Claire’s night out. In all its unusualness, it had been the most fun he’d had since before the war.

“Yer going about this all wrong, lad. Dinna be trying to sweep her off her feet with meaningless bells and whistles. A woman of her stature must have seen it all by now and seemingly hasna been enchanted by anyone who has tried. Show her something real, something that she hasna seen before, instead. And given what ye said about your night wi’ her, she’d appreciate something different, I think,” his godfather kept gruffly saying. He saw the truth in what Murtagh said and when he stripped the pressure off himself, the idea came to him at once.

So he’d called her and told her to wear something comfortable, and to get to Lallybroch early.

“ _Not a problem,_ ” she’d said cheerfully. “ _I’ll be spending the night at a B &B in Broch Mordha, shouldn’t take too long to get to Lallybroch from there._”

Jamie woke the morning of nervous as a teenage boy preparing for his first courting. He knew everything was ready, a quick look out his bedroom window told him the weather had behaved through the night - and hopefully - it would stay dry throughout the day. Mrs. Crook had sorted out the food and Murtagh the stables. So why did he still have those infuriating butterflies in the pit of his stomach?

 _Ifrinn!_  he chided himself, vigorously rubbing the sleep from eyes as if he could scrub the nerves from his system altogether, and took a cold, refreshing shower.

***

 _Not bad, Beauchamp,_  Claire thought, admiring herself in the inn bedroom’s body length mirror, swaying this way and that. It took her the better half of twenty minutes to find just the right casual and comfortable look. She hadn’t dressed like this in years; blue jeans folded half way up her ankles, her men’s dress shirt was loosely tucked in and folded at the sleeves half way up her forearms as well, and her well worn saddle shoes were no longer the pristine white they once were but a darker cream, yet went surprisingly well with her cream wrap coat. For once in a very long time, she left her hair wild and curly as it naturally was.

She looked and  _felt_ like her old self again.

She smiled to herself, turning to grab her coat and bag off the bed, when her eyes caught sight of the floor plans she’d quickly sketched from memory of the Manor.  _Dammit_ … She had a rough plan in mind for getting the necklace, a sleeping draught perhaps? She thought slipping a vial into a hidden compartment of her bag. But given she had no clue what Jamie was preparing to do for the day, she needed her plans to stay flexible. She’d carefully packed the few tools she’d need to crack the safe. All she really needed was her stethoscope, a notepad and pencil -  _still, it never hurt to be prepared_  - she added a few more of the plethora of vials she had, just in case. She’d had the stethoscope ever since the war - part of a small medical kit - a gift from her uncle just before she’d gotten deployed. She didn’t want to think what he’d say if he knew what use it had come to inhibit.

What she needed more than anything today though, was time alone in Jamie’s bedroom.

***

It was shaping up to be a beautiful day as Claire drove up to the Manor that morning. The sun was out, spring finally beginning to turn into summer in earnest. As beautiful as the Manor had been the night of the benefit dinner, Claire could not help but marvel at its breathtaking splendor in the light of a sunny day. She saw men tend the fields and livestock, women in the kale yards, and the scruffy older gentleman she recognized as Jamie’s godfather taking a horse round a pen, as she came to a rumbling stop in the driveway.

Jamie, hearing the car drive up was making his way down the steps, a scruffy smile from ear to ear. He was dressed - she was glad to see - just as casually as her, in a white, short sleeved v-neck T-shirt and loose fitting jeans. His ginger curls gloriously open and untamed for once. He got to the car in time to open the door for her. “Ye ken how to drive?” he said a little surprised, as he leaned in and kissed the edge of her mouth softly, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Yes, well,” she said giving her little pale blue Morris Minor a fond pat, “My uncle always said to be a well rounded woman, one must know the fundamentals of being self sufficient. Driving and maintaining a vehicle being one.”

“Aye, he’s right enough, always good to know ye can take care of yerself in a pinch.” he said approvingly giving the car a look over.

It wasn’t as immaculate as it once was by any means, it had its fair share of dings and bruises, but each had its own story and Claire refused to fix any. It gave her Minor personality, she thought. So long as it ran without any dramatic outbursts, it was perfect.

Jamie put a light hand on the small of her back and lead her up the front steps. “I hope you dinna mind being outdoors, Sassenach, it would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day indoors.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m far more outdoorsy than you probably think,” she said, faux-scorned. “I spent most of my childhood traveling with my uncle on his various digs,” seeing the blank look on Jamie’s face, she added, “He was a renowned archaeologist.”

“Was he now? Well, we willna be digging for treasure today, but I canna wait to hear more about these intrepid adventures!”

The Manor was as beautiful as she remember, even more so without a bunch of pompous rich folk pawing at everything in sight. She could hear the chatter and bustle of everyday life flitting through the open windows, the smell of fresh bread wafting through the halls.

“I just need to go get something from the kitchen,” he said, “Stay put, aye? I’ll only be a few minutes.” At her nod, he quickly disappeared, leaving her in the large drawing room.

She turned around on the spot, taking in the room. There were books, old and new, on every surface. There was an old, tattered Scottish flag in a frame on the wall - it hadn’t been there the other night. Judging by the design and wear and tear, it must have been around 200 years old. She heard the rumble of voices somewhere from deeper within the house. The deep, rich lilt of Jamie’s voice and what sounded like an older woman, her tone maternal and warmly chastising him. She couldn’t understand a word they said, not because of the echoing distortion of being rooms apart, but because they weren’t speaking any language she’d heard before.

Jamie came back holding what looked like a rather large and sturdy wicker briefcase - no, not a briefcase, judging by the jangle of cutlery within - a picnic basket and a woolen dark maple tartan picnic blanket draped over his arm.

“You speak Gaelic?” she asked in surprise.

“Aye,” he said, “near everyone on the estate does!”

“What’s all this then?” Claire asked, smiling at the look of barely contained excitement on his face.

“Fancy taking a ride? I assume my intrepid adventurer kens how to ride a horse, aye?” He said, flashing her a cheeky grin.

_Well, the sleep draught’s out of the question._

“Oh, I’ve ridden my fair share of horses, Fraser,” she said before thinking, a laugh catching in her throat. Seeing his grin growing exponentially more naughty, she grabbed the closest thing to hand - a small wooden carving - and flung it at his head. He caught it neatly, laughing.

“You’ve got an arm on you! Come on, Sassenach, Thistle’s getting saddled for ye.”

***

They walked up the little hill towards the stables in a companionable silence. Jamie letting Claire take in the grounds around them. She seemed particularly fascinated by the plants she came across on their walk, stopping here and there to pick and examine a few. To Jamie they all seemed like weeds, but to Claire, she saw far more.

Seeing his amusement, she said a little shyly, “It’s a hobby. I’ve always loved collecting and studying plants and herbs, finding their value - medical or otherwise.” Granted she hadn’t made anything but incapacitators lately, but she did have her private stock of medicines, antidotes and remedies.

“Aye, and what have you there? What can ye use that for?” he nodded at the pink flowers she held in her hand.

“Storksbill,” she said, straightening up and pulling a small container from her bag and popping the wee plant in. “Good for headaches.”

They walked on, finally coming level with the stables. Murtagh, taking one look at the large picnic basket Jamie was carrying said, “If I knew ye’d be bringing the entire kitchen wi’ ye, I’d have prepared a packing mule too.” Claire hid her smile behind her hand seeing Jamie look at his Godfather with an affronted look on his face.

“Ye ken Mrs. Crook dinna like to leave anything to chance,” Jamie said scorned.

“Aye, I ken the old fusspot weel,” Murtagh replied with a grunt, taking the basket and trying to figure out how to tie it to a big, temperamental looking horse, who immediately started fidgeting, irritably swiping its tail at Murtagh. “I don’t think Donas is going to take too kindly to this strapped to his hind quarters.”

The two men promptly began bickering about the best way to do it. After about three minutes of patiently watching them pass the basket back and forth, Claire huffed a laugh and said, “Oh, for God’s sake, give it here,” and not waiting for Jamie to hand it over, took the basket and blanket from him. “You,” she pointed at Jamie, “Will get on that timebomb you call a horse, and you,” she pointed at Murtagh, who looked rather bemused, “Will give him the basket to hold on his lap. “And I,” she pointed at herself, “Will get on my well-behaved beauty and carrying the blanket on my lap.”

Her pretty brown horse - Thistle Jamie had called her - did indeed seem very patient, she hadn’t so much as neighed at the commotion beside her. After another few minutes of trial and error, the two were finally horsed and on their way.

“So… Where are we going?” Claire asked as they ambled side by side.

“Ye’ll see soon enough. It isn’t too far. Just over that wee hillock,” Jamie replied pointing passed a round tower to a hill some distance away, giving her a lopsided smile.

She heard the splash of water before they’d crested the hill, but nothing could have prepared her for the picturesque beauty that awaited them. A small and very old looking mill house, with an old fashioned water wheel turning serenely in the pale, mid morning sun. The view expanded beyond the mill house and pond as far as the eye could see, fields of heather and rolling mountains surrounded them.

“This is stunning, Jamie,” she said quietly, unable to tear her eyes away from the view.

“Och, it’s nothin’,” he said rubbing his neck. “Not as exciting as the seedier side of the London underground,” she shot him a look that made him laugh.

“It’s perfect,” was all she said.

He led them down a little path to a flat little spot and helped her off her horse and left the two beasts grazing in the nearby field. He nodded toward the mill and said, “Well over 200 years old, as old as the estate itself,” as they spread the picnic blanket and sat down. “Feels like everything on the estate is over 200 years old. I remember when I was wee lad, three or four, we used to come up here and go swimming in the millpond,” he said fondly. “My sister Jenny used to scare me with stories of water horses and selkies. She used to say,  _“if ye take off yer swimming trunks one more time, Jamie Fraser, I’ll summon the water horse that lives in this pond, to pull ye under by the baws!_ ”. At that age, I wasna so fond of keeping anything on. One day though, I got tangled up in the water-weeds and thought the besom had actually summoned a bloody water horse. Makes quite the impression on a wee laddie! Never swam without secure trunks ever again after that.”

Claire’s laughter was free and uninhibited. The vision of a cheeky three year old version of Jamie, pulling down his breeches to devil his irate sister, was enough to have her sides hurting. When her laughter finally subsided, she caught Jamie, leaning back on his palms, watching her.

“Well, enough about me. Let’s talk about ye for a minute. Ye said yer uncle raised ye?”

 _What’s it going to be, Beauchamp? Truth or a lie._  She looked at him, those earnest eyes looking back at her, with surprisingly no expectations, just honest curiosity.

“Yes, since I was five. My parents… Died in a car accident.”  _Truth it is,_ _then_. “I’m not quite sure he knew what to do with me, being a perpetual bachelor himself, untethered to anything but what site he was sent to next. He was the gentlest soul I’ve ever known, was uncle Lamb. And when I persuaded him not to send me to boarding school-”

“Threw the mother of all tantrums did ye?”

She slapped his arm lightly.

“He decided the best education I’d ever have was by his side anyway. He was right. I learned about history, world cultures, herbal medicines, and everything in between. I met people I wouldn’t have ever imagined I’d meet. He’s the one who encouraged me to be a nurse. He’d always encouraged me to follow what it is I found passion in. Like he did,” she finished quietly, her voice distant, even to her own ears.

“When did he pass?”

“During the war. He was part of a team that were cataloging artifacts being sent into storage at the British museum when it got shelled. I was in Paris by then.” She let out a long sigh and felt Jamie take her hand and squeeze lightly.

“I ken the feeling well,” he said, voice laced with genuine understanding. “But I dinna think I have enough wine to drown out our pasts today, so wee change of subject?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Of course,” she said, gratefully.

He ran his thumb gently along her finger, keeping his eyes on their linked hands. “I hope you don’t think me forward… I know there are things you canna -  _willna_ \- tell me. I see it on your face, warring within ye. And I understand the need to keep certain things for yerself. I will never push you to tell me anything you dinna wish to, if you aren’t ready. Even though you can always talk to me about anything - you should know that.” He was speaking far more nervously than he’d intended, but needed to get it out before he lost his nerve. He looked at her then, and continued, “but what I would ask of ye, when you do tell me something, let it be the truth. And I’ll promise ye the same. We have nothing now between us, save respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies. Do ye agree?”

She swallowed, unable to hold his gaze, she looked down instead at their interlocking fingers. What could she say? She’d chosen to show him real parts of herself. Unlike she’d ever done with anyone else, let alone a mark. There was really only one answer she could give.

“Yes, I agree. You have my honesty.” And she saw him let out the breath he’d been holding. And she took his hand in both of hers, exploring every bumpy knuckle, lithe wrist and powerful muscle.

“And you have mine, Sassenach. Always,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and sealed his promise with a gentle kiss.

She was fucked. And she very well knew it.

***


	5. Chapter 5

## Chapter 5.

 

 They spent the rest of the afternoon in good spirits, Jamie making sure their glasses were never empty. The picnic basket had been packed to the nines with fresh bread, cheese, fruits and jams, some cold ham, and wine. Everything save the wine, Jamie said, was made at Lallybroch. It was a place steeped in history and tradition, and Jamie intimately knew every story and legend, every hidden corner and blade of grass.

Claire in turn, told him of her nomadic childhood and uncle Lamb’s unconventional “homeschooling” techniques, which Jamie found far more amusing than she’d expected.

They ate and drank slowly, fingers intertwining whenever the chance arose, enjoying the peaceful hum around them. There was an easy serenity about the place. A serenity, Claire knew if her plan was to succeed, wasn’t going to be something she’d be experiencing for much longer. And found she absolutely  _hated_ the thought.

They’d have stayed there endlessly if they could; Claire stretched out on her side, her head cradled in her hand, Jamie’s long legs jutting off the blanket as he braced himself back on his forearms, but the air turned crisp and the inevitable rumble of thunder rolled over the distant mountains.

“How long do you think, before it reaches us?” Claire asked, reluctantly stirring and sitting up.

“At the rate it’s moving, it’ll be on us soon enough. We best start making our way back, Sassenach,” he said, unceremoniously dumping the now empty containers back into the basket. Claire stood and stretched out luxuriously.

“God… I can’t even remember the last time I sat like this and just relaxed,” she said tilting her head back and letting the misty air wash over her face.

“Aye? Ye… Enjoyed it, then?” he asked without looking at her, instead fussed with the basket’s clasp.

She smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and went over to help with the basket. “I did. I could’ve stayed here forever, in fact.” She saw the corner of his mouth tug upwards. They hoisted the now secure and far less heavy basket up onto Donas’ side and began to fasten it. The horse neighed, trying to angle his back away from them. Jamie said something firm in Gaelic and the horse stilled.

“What does it mean?” Claire asked.

“Och, nothin’ I’d want to repeat in a lady’s understanding,” he replied with a smile.

“No, not that! I gathered by your tone more or less what you said. No, I meant when you call me ‘ _Sassanak_ ’.”

His ears went bright pink.

“It… Just means Englishman or woman, is all. What we call those who aren’t Scots,” he said quietly.

“That’s not all is it, though? The way you say it…”

“It’s just a pet name. After all, I need to call ye  _something_ and you didna want to tell me your real name, so, Sassenach it is!” He gave her a sideways glance.

The memory flashed before her of the night they’d met. _“My name’s not Elizabeth”_. She’d been foolish and impulsive. She’d broken one of her cardinal rules that night. And broken many more since. She opened her mouth, hardly knowing what she was even going to say, when a flash of lightning illuminated they’re little heather, closely followed by a boom that made the horses jump wildly. The first droplets began tapping on her shoulder.

“Come on!” Jamie called over the rising noise and hoisted her up onto Thistle. He got on Donas in one smooth movement and lead the way back at a gentle gallop. They got back to the stables soaked and the horses irritable from the rolling thunder that followed them throughout.

Claire’s mind had been racing the entire time - she had to think of a way to get some time alone in the Manor. In his room. She’d let things go too far already. She needed to end this, and soon.

The sound of the rain was amplified within the stables making everyone have to shout over the clatter. Murtagh took hold of Thistle as soon as Claire had gotten off, and moved the horse quickly away. Turning around, Claire realized the commotion was more than just because of the rain. Jamie was wrestling with Donas, the horse irate, finally unleashing the temper he’d been threatening all afternoon. Two stable boys rushed to help, exchanging a flurry of Gaelic between them. Jamie had Donas’ reins in hand but the horse was powerful and kept swinging away, hind legs kicking out at anyone and anything within range. Seeing one of the stable boys getting dangerously close to getting his head knocked off, Jamie made to grab the boy and pull him out of the way. Claire’s shout caught in her throat as she watched as everything seemed to move in slow motion. Jamie shoved the lad, but stumbled into the horse’s path, just as it kicked out with all its power, catching Jamie squarely on the shoulder sending him flying backwards, then his ribs as the hooves came down where he lay, a horrible crunching sound echoing through the stables .

***

Claire rushed forward, heedless of the thrashing horse being wrestled into a box stall by more stable hands and Murtagh now, her instincts taking over as she got to Jamie’s hunched form and quickly assessed what injuries he had.

“ _IFRINN_!” He tried shouting over her shoulder at Donas, his breath totally knocked out of him. “Ifrinn,” he said again, wincing as he cradled his arm.

Claire gently but firmly took his arm in hers, she didn’t need to peel his shirt away to see the way the bone awkwardly poked out. The angle of the dislocation made her shudder. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” she said under her breath, moving his arm to the side and prodded his slightly bloodied rib cage, making him moan. “Got yourself a broken rib, my lad, a couple others cracked as well, I suspect. That bloody beast also scraped up your skin pretty well too,” she said to Jamie, “We have to get inside, where I can tend to these properly,” she added to Murtagh.

“Tend to him?” Murtagh asked.

“She’s a nurse,” Jamie replied.

“ _Was_ a nurse. During the war. But I still remember enough to get everything back in to where it’s supposed to be,” she said, giving Jamie a reassuring smile.

“Aye, think ye can make it to your room, lad?” Murtagh asked him.

“Aye, aye I can, just need a wee bit of help, is all,” Jamie said, extending his good hand to his godfather and gingerly getting his feet, leaning his large, heavy frame all on his uncle.

“Och!  _‘A wee bit of help’,_  is it? Ye weigh as much as a bloody draft horse, ye wee numpty!” Murtagh said, making Jamie huff a pained laugh.

They walked slowly back to the house, the rain mercifully was down to a drizzle, but the ground unhelpfully slippery. But between them, Claire and Murtagh managed to get him inside without any further injury. They were met by an anxious looking elderly woman at the door. Seeing the look on her face, Murtagh said, “Dinna fash, Mrs. Crook, the lad will be fine. We just need to get him upstairs so the lass can tend to him.” The old lady looked between them, uncertain.

“Mrs. Crook,” Claire said, catching her attention. “If you please, I’m going to need whatever medical supplies and bandages you have.”

Thus given a task to execute, Mrs. Crook bustled off to do Claire’s bidding. By the time they finally got up to his room, Mrs. Crook had already managed to get everything Claire had asked, as well as a warm blaze crackling in the fireplace and a bottle of whisky on the bedside table. Murtagh settled Jamie on the edge of the bed, waiting for Claire’s next instructions.

Claire’s eyes inexorably darted to the wall.

“Take off his shirt, then hold him,” she said with all the authority of a head matron, as she put her bag on a seat by the fire. Murtagh hesitated for a moment, exchanging a look with Jamie, who gave him a sharp nod, and did as she said.

Claire’s eyes itched to dart back to the wall once more, but were immediately snapped back to the task at hand. Not so much for the injuries Jamie had, but for the sheer artistry with which he was beautifully made. The arcs of lean muscle taut in pain, the sun-kissed bronze skin filmed with rain, his damp hair clinging to his face and neck. It took Claire’s breath away. She didn’t let herself linger on the thought - or tried to - she had far more pressing matters to see to, starting with getting his shoulder back into joint.

“Hold him steady,” she said to Murtagh again, as she stood in front of Jamie and positioned his arm into the angle she needed. “Can’t say this isn’t going to hurt, because it will. But only for a moment,” at Jamie’s nod, she looked to Murtagh, who’d gotten firm hold of Jamie. “Alright. On three, then. One… Tw—” and she swiftly popped his shoulder into place with a loud, unpleasant crunch.

Jamie let out a long groan, his body going slack, head falling back, “ _A Dhia_ ,” he breathed.

“It’s the anticipation that’s the bugger,” Claire said to no one in particular.

“Does it hurt?” Murtagh asked.

“No. Not anymore,” Jamie replied.

“Good,” Murtagh said, promptly letting go of Jamie, who slumped over on to the bed. “Right, if I’m no longer needed, you’ll excuse me, I have a horse to geld.” As he made his way for the door though, Jamie half sat up.

“Dinna do that. I can handle Donas. This wasna his fault,” he said.

Murtagh and Claire exchanged a dubious look, one that said she was more than ready to hand him the shears herself.

“Your horse, your choice, lad. I willna touch the beast.” And with that he left, shutting the door behind him, plunging the room into a fire crackling silence.

Neither moved for a long moment, the silence threatening to grow uncomfortable.

 _Shake it off, Beauchamp, he isn’t_  that  _well made!_  she lied to herself, finally stirring into action once more. She huffed a laugh and said, “I best get that scrape cleaned up and shoulder and ribs bound.” As she moved towards him though, she saw him stiffen slightly. To give him time to compose himself, she instead went over by the fire and looked through the little medical box and found what she needed. Cloth and disinfectant. Two huge rolls of bandages sat beside the box, more than enough.

When she turned, she saw the nervous tension still lining his body. “The worst is over, this will only sting a moment,” she tried to reassure him.

“It isna that…” he began, but went quiet.

Claire tentatively sat beside him where he half slumped by the edge of the bed. Seeing he didn’t move away, she began gently cleaning the scrape across his right side. He hissed, but said nothing.

“You’re going to have to sit up for a bit while I bind your ribs and arm,” she said moving to help him sit. Before he could object, she’d slipped her arm round his waist and that’s when she felt it. Beneath her fingers was an inexplicable labyrinth of scar tissue. Jamie was watching her intently, and whatever he saw in her face in that moment, didn’t anger him or make him recoil. Quite the opposite. It made him relax into her touch. He slowly sat up letting Claire see that labyrinth that spanned the entirety of his beautiful back.

“We were on night watch, patrolling near the outer perimeter of our improvised trench, when we were ambushed,” he said. “I was at the front of the line and didn’t see the grenades get thrown in behind me. Just heard the scream of the man behind me and felt the pieces of shrapnel hit my back, the force of the blast launching me forward. I dinna remember anything after that, save waking up in a convalescent home in England three weeks later.” He took her hand and pressed it to the back of his head, just above the hairline, where she felt yet another long, thin scar. “Doctor said I’d been lucky. An inch lower and I’d be dead… Or worse.”

Claire traced the scars gently, wishing her touch could erase them altogether. Then she let her fingers take in the shape of his broad shoulder blades, the columns of muscle that ran down the length of his back and every bump of his backbone. Her touch letting him know he was whole to her.

“My brother-in-law, Ian, lost his leg that day. He was the first face I saw when I woke up. Grinning like a fiend at me and him without a leg,” he continued with a rueful smile.

As he spoke, Claire slowly began to bind his wounds, only interrupting him to ask if the bandages were too tight. She got the feeling, from the way he spoke, this wasn’t something he told many people. Or any one at all, save perhaps his godfather. She’d seen her fair share of gruesome injuries during the war, but knew better than anyone the scars it left on someone’s soul, went far deeper. She let him speak, knowing her presence and hopefully her reassuring touch were enough. She helped him shimmy back till he finally lay against the pillows and got him under his blanket. He looked exhausted, as if the telling had drained him, but also had lifted a weight he seemed to be carrying. But she knew what he needed just then more than anything, was rest. As she took the remaining bandages back to the medicine box by the fire, an idea struck her. She reached for her bag and slipped the tiny vial of sleeping draught out.

“You really should get your ribs checked by a doctor. Get a few x-rays done, just to make sure the break isn’t too bad. Your shoulder’s going to be tender for about a week too. You’ll need a proper sling, not just the makeshift one I made, and some hot compresses on it daily. Try not to move your arm all that much for a few days. Maybe I should write this down for you,” she said, pouring him a whisky - and snuck in a few drops of draught.

“I’ll do, Sassenach. I have you, no?” he said, fidgeting to get a comfortable position.

“You’re a very stubborn man, Fraser,” she said with a smile, as she sat down beside him and handed him the glass.

“Will ye drink with me?” he asked, giving her his best sad puppy dog eyes, making her laugh.

“Perhaps just one. You need your rest.” She poured herself one too.

“ _Slainte_ ,” he said, tapping her glass.

They sat in silence for a bit, sipping slowly, watching each other.

“I kent well enough what Colum said about war being messy. You’re never the same when you come back, aye?”

“No. You never forget,” she replied quietly.

“I havena told anyone, but Murtagh and Ian, really. Some people, they hear about the war and think they know. But to  _see_ its effects, its scars… They couldna see  _us_ anymore without thinking of it,” he said with a shrug. She nodded. He took a deep gulp of his drink.

“You don’t mind me seeing your back?”

“No, I don’t,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “I thought perhaps at first… But I ken you would understand. It’s just… that ye seem to have a knack for letting me know you’re sorry for it, without makin’ me feel pitiful about it.”

He drained his drink and set his glass by Claire’s empty one on the side table. “This wasna how I pictured this day ending,” he said with a laugh.

“Aaand… how did you picture it ending?” Claire asked cheekily.

“Well, for one thing, I had a whole dinner planned. For another, I wouldna have ye in my room alone like this.”

“Why ever not?!” she exclaimed with a laugh.

“It isna proper! Yer reputation if anyone heard, would be ruined,” he said earnestly. Her smile faded.

“Then don’t get yourself kicked by a horse next time,” she tried teasing gently.

“At least it gives me the excuse to see you again, aye? After all ye’ll need to check on me tomorrow, make sure I havena skewered my lung with a rib or something,” he grinned at her.

“Don’t even joke about that!” she said slapping his good arm. “But I suppose I must, if only to make sure you haven’t done anything else foolish,” she said. His smile broadened.

She made to get up then, but he grabbed her hand, stilling her. “Stay,” he said, whatever propriety he held himself to disappearing. “Stay just a little while longer.”

She could see the draught taking effect, his eyes beginning to droop, body going slack. He looked up at her with such an unutterable tenderness, her hand seemed to move of its own accord, and she ran the back of her fingers gently over his scruffy cheek. Over and over, making her skin tingle. “Alright,” she whispered, and leaned down and softly kissed him, his mouth curving into a smile against hers. Her fingers continued to trace the lines of his face, brow and chin, watching as his eyes flutter, then finally shut. His breathing became slow and deep.

She got up slowly, knowing what she had to do next would shatter her heart.

She went to her bag and got the stethoscope, notepad and pen, and turned towards the opposite wall. Every step she took towards the safe felt abnormally heavy. The click of the fake wall was barely audible, but it filled every corner of her mind. She looked over at the bed, Jamie lay silent, as she popped in the stethoscope’s eartips and began. It took her just fifteen minutes to crack the safe, each tumble’s quiet  _clink_ a dread to her ears. And heart. She rested her hand on the handle for a long, agonizing moment. She stood warring with herself, knowing to open it, to take that next step would rip her apart. She rested her forehead against the cold metal door and shut her eyes, trying to keep the sting of tears at bay, but couldn’t stop one from rolling down her cheek.

The metal door, slowly and silently, swung open.

***


	6. Chapter 6

## Chapter 6.

 

 Jamie woke, the morning sun cresting over the horizon, its light slowly creeping towards the house, his head feeling twice as heavy. He lay for a moment, trying to clear the fuzziness of his mind, the memory of her touch still making his cheek and lips tingle. He turned his head and saw a half eaten sandwich by his bedside table and for the life of him, had no memory of eating it the night before.

He gingerly sat up against the headboard, pain shooting through his side. Beside the discarded sandwich he saw a wee brown vial sitting atop a folded piece of paper with his name on it. Unfolding it, read:

 

_J,_

_For when you wake up. Willow bark extract, for the pain. Just half a teaspoon in a cup of tea or glass of water, three times a day. Tea works better at masking the taste. Do not just have it with whisky!_

_I’ll see you tomorrow._

_C._

 

Jamie read and reread the letter. His eyes lingering on the last line.

_I’ll see you tomorrow._

His finger traced the  _C_ over and over, as if the act would finally reveal what her name really was. She’d given him this little truth, but had kept the rest. Had she even realized she’d signed it so, he wondered. 

He turned onto his good side, his smile growing at the thought of getting to see her again, getting to feel her hands on him again. He needed some more sleep before she got to Lallybroch, he wanted his head to be hundred percent clear for her.

As he dozed off once more though, he thought he caught out of the corner of his eye, where his discarded shirt lay on the carpet, right by the wall safe, the carpet’s edge slightly upturned.

By the time the rattle and rumble of her Minor woke him up again a few hours later, the room had already been tidied up, the sandwich gone, the fire rekindled, the clothes picked off the floor. Everything where and how it was meant to be.

***

Claire hardly even knew what she was thinking. Going back to Lallybroch was simply reckless, even though she knew perfectly well the decision she’d made the day before was absolute. There was no going back, and yet here she was, unable to stay away. If Jamie ever learned of who -  _what -_  she really was, she had no doubt he’d never forgive the deception or ever trust her word ever again. But she had to make sure he was alright… And if only for the chance to say goodbye.

***

If Jamie could have, he’d have leapt off the bed the moment he heard the Minor pull up. As it was he was stiff all over. Not so much from the injuries, but the awkward way he’d had to sleep. He knew he must have looked disheveled to the extreme and tried patting down his unruly hair into some semblance of neatness as he heard her voice waft up to him. There was an odd tone to it that he couldn’t quite place, but forgot all about it as he heard her footsteps near his bedroom. He quickly adjusted himself one last time to what he hoped looked like casual ease as the door creaked open and her beautifully messy-curls head popped in.

“Ah, you’re wake!” she smiled, making his heart lighten.

“Aye, got your note, too,” he said.

“Have you had any?”

“Nah, I just woke up.”

“Well, I asked Mrs. Crook to make you a fresh pot of tea, it’ll be up any minute.”

She stood by the door. He wanted more than anything for her to come sit beside him, but she just stood there, watching him. No, not watching him - memorizing him. Her eyes raked of him slowly, not in invitation, but as if trying to capture every detail of him. Her eyes finally rested on his.

“What is it, Sassenach?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head ruefully, her smile faltering. “It’s nothing, Jamie,” she said, finally moving closer.

He lifted his hand and she slipped her own into it without hesitation as she sat beside him. She checked his pulse and felt his brow. She looked relieved. Satisfied he was alright, her hand slid from his brow and lingered on his cheek. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes as he let her warmth seep into him.

“How does your shoulder feel?” she asked as she peeled the bandage from his side to check his ribs.

“It doesna hurt much anymore,” he replied.

“It will, just make sure to use warm compresses on it, it should ease the stiffness within a week or so. Your ribs I’m afraid will take a little longer,” she prodded his side gently, but it still made him wince. “The bruising should go down in two to three weeks, the break and cracks should heal on their own in about a month or two.  _Provided_ ,” she added with emphasis, “You don’t exasperate the injury. I brought you a few more vials of willow bark, that should help manage your pain.” She placed four more wee vials beside the one she’d left before.

“I dinna think I’ll need all that!” Jamie said, looking amused.

“It’s always better to have some extra at hand, just in case,” she said.

They went silent again. The urge had been building inside him from the moment he heard her drive up and judging by the look she was given him now, the hunger burned just as strongly within her as well. Giving in to it, Jamie buried his fingers into the mass of curls at the base of her neck and slowly pulled her down to him. She came willingly. Their lips met tentatively, but that was quickly overcome by an urgent need for more. Her mouth opened to his, welcoming him to explore. He kissed her long and deeply, his tongue running along and twining with hers, making her moan. She held herself over him not wanting to put any pressure on his injuries, but he slid his free arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She melted at once, her fingers finding purchase at the base of his neck, digging into the flesh.

So lost were they in each other, that neither heard Mrs. Crook walking up to the door, only breaking apart when they heard her no-nonsense “ _AHEM!_ ” as she walked in. Without a word, she came in, deposited the tea tray on the bedside table, gave Jamie a quick once over, Jamie looking back at her sheepishly, determined he was alright, and left.

Claire who’d been beet red the entire time, caught Jamie’s eye, and burst out a nervous laugh. Jamie hadn’t let go of her, but had loosened his hold slightly, giving Claire a chance to reach over and prepare him a willow bark-laced cup of tea. “You really should wear a shirt,” she said somewhat breathlessly and ignoring the gleam in his eye, added, “Before you catch a chill,” and handed him the cup.

“The room’s warm enough, no?” he said, taking the cup gingerly, but keeping his arm around her waist.

“No,” she replied, getting up to get him something to wear. His arm tightened immediately. He cocked his eyebrow;  _A kiss first_ , it said. She rolled her eyes but leaned in gladly and kissed him briefly but thoroughly before pulling away again. He nodded at the dresser, where she pulled out a pale blue dress shirt and very carefully helped him put it on.

As she buttoned it, he watched her fingers slowly work their way up. “Always imagined this going the other way,” he whispered, smiling at the rosy flush that flooded her cheeks. “If I may be so bold.”

Her fingers lingered a moment at the  _V_  where his shirt sat unbuttoned near the hollow of his chest. “I have to go back to London soon,” she said, not meeting his eye.

“When?” he said, placing his hand over hers, pressing it to his chest.

“Tomorrow, I think. I… Have things I need to sort out. I don’t know when or even  _if_ I’ll be back.”

“Sassenach. Look at me, please,” he said gently. She did, hesitantly. “I dinna ken what weighs on ye, I dinna ken what’s changed since yesterday, but I can see whatever it is, it pains ye. And it guts me I canna give ye comfort.”

Her eyes sharpened on his, “You do,” she said, running her hand down his cheek again.

“Then stay. You don’t have to tell me, just stay. A few more days, at least to make sure I dinna hurt myself again,” he said, trying to make her smile. It only half worked. “Whatever it is, it can wait. Stay here, clear yer head. There’s plenty of room.”

“I can’t do that, Jamie. As much as I’d love to, I can’t. What I have to do, I’m certain would mean I couldn’t see you again and staying here would only make it even harder for me to leave you.”

“Why?” he asked, his hand tightening around hers, “Why would ye not see me again?”

“Jamie—”

“Ye canna just say something like that without explanation,” his voice began to rise slightly.

“You said you wouldn’t ask me, Jamie, and I’d very much prefer not to have to lie to you,” she countered, her own voice losing control.

“I ken what I said, but I feel like we’re about to make the biggest mistake of our lives if I just let you walk out the door and I dinna even ken why?” he said, cupping her cheek. “If going back to London means I never see ye again, then all I ask is a few days. A few days to be wi’ ye. Whatever it is, Sassenach, let it wait.” He saw her resolve falter and crack. “Whatever troubles happen around us, it doesna signify here.”

Claire put her hand on his and pressed it harder against her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear that fell.

“I’ll stay.”

***

Claire stood leaning against the low fence, watching the setting sun slowly plunge the expanse of Lallybroch into a soft darkness. It had been three days since she’d brought what little she had at the inn to the guest room Jamie had offered. “ _I haven’t any clothes, you know,_ ” Claire had told him, having only packed for a weekend trip. Jenny, he’d said, had left a whole closet full, but they’d just be a “ _trifle smaller._ ” And by a  _trifle_ what he really meant was several sizes. But Claire managed to find a few that worked.

Time seemed to have stood still here. And for the most part, Claire had managed to push out the world and just be with Jamie. For however short a time, she was determined to savor it. But there’d been a drumming inside her head. A noise that was getting louder. A sound that was getting harder to ignore. A sound that began filling every part of her. She closed her eyes against the building din.

She hadn’t heard him approach till she felt him slip a coat over her shoulders and his arm around her waist. She smiled as he buried his face into her neck and took a deep breath.

“I could see ye shivering from inside the house,” he said.

“Mmmm… I can see why the young owner,” she said, bumping her hip against his playfully, “is such a recluse. Can’t imagine anyone would want to leave this place.” She felt the rumble of a laugh deep in his chest. He turned her around and she leaned back into the fence as he bent his head towards hers, their lips meeting. Claire arms wrapped themselves around his neck, their bodies swaying together. After what felt an age, they broke apart, Jamie humming as she ran her lips along his scruffy jaw.

“I canna wait to get this damn sling off so I can hold ye properly,” he said, giving his arm a jerk.

“Neither can I.” She nipped his ear.

“Ye keep that up, Sassenach, and injury or no, I’m likely to throw ye over my shoulder and find the nearest haystack and ye said I shouldna be doing anything strenuous.”

Laughing, she pushed him back slightly so she could look at him properly. “Too right. Besides, you started it.”

He smiled, putting his forehead against hers. The past few days had been the happiest he’d ever been. Even just the shadow of the thought that she might leave made his stomach drop.

“We should get inside, Mrs. Crook said dinner would be ready soon,” he said with a sigh.

She hummed in agreement, but neither moved. Neither could. They just stood in each other’s embrace, as night wrapped around them.

***

As the days turned into a week, Claire had slowly found a place for herself amongst the Lallybroch inhabitants, helping where she could with the various everyday minor injuries suffered by the farm hands and stable boys. It was a side of her she’d long feared she’d lost after the war. How easily Claire had forgotten how much she loved it. She had let herself forget.

She and Jamie had found their own rhythm as well. One that profoundly scared her. It had been as natural as breathing. So much so, that peeling themselves away from each other at night before things went further than Claire was ready for, had been nothing short of a Herculean task. A task, Claire found, had been getting even more difficult the more Jamie healed.

He’d been a model patient for about a minute, before he got restless from being inactive. Claire recognizing the signs of a mutinous patient, asked him to show her the rest of the estate. It gave him something to do and gave them a chance to spend time together. During their long walks through the grounds, he told her of his family; like her, his mother past when he was a young boy during childbirth, what few memories he had of her, Claire felt, he cherished deeply, and of his father who’d suffered a stroke after seeing his son’s horrific war injuries. She understood more than ever that shadow she’d seen plague him whenever the war had been brought up.

“Murtagh had always been around, but he was such a great help to my sister when my Da past. I’m forever in the old grump’s debt,” he said fondly. “I was in not state to do anything for her, but Jenny and Murtagh didna miss a beat. It was only after I’d come back from the convalescent home, that they gave me and themselves room to finally mourn his passing. I never got the chance to bury my father, but I visit him,” he nodded over to where Claire knew was the family kirkyard.

She gave his arm a rub. “I know the feeling. I never got a chance to bury my uncle either, and I was far too young to remember my parents funerals.”

“I dinna like the thought of ye alone like that,” he said.

Claire weighed his words for a while as they walked. Her decision to stay had changed everything. Every hour she spent here the harder the inevitable became, but she’d chosen, and Jamie deserved to know.

“Well, I wasn’t all alone. I was… Married once,” she watched Jamie out of the corner of her eye and though his face tightened at her words, he said nothing, only listened. “It didn’t last very long. I was nineteen and foolish. Two years later, the war started and my marriage was already over. I filed for divorce, but you should know, to this day he hasn’t signed the papers.”

“Who is he?” Jamie asked, his throat tight.

“He knew my uncle, that’s how we met. He was never a faithful man, but he is a possessive one. I thought I had found a way to finally rid myself of him once and for all, but… I’m afraid I cocked up the chance,” she said defeated.

“What can I do?”

“There’s nothing to do, Jamie. This is a mess I got myself into, it’s a mess I’ll get myself out of. I don’t want you involved in this.”

“Ye dinna have to do this on your own anymore.”

“I know. But I  _need_ to.”

***

 

“JAMES ALEXANDER MALCOLM MAC- _BLOODY_ -KENZIE FRASER!” A voice boomed through the Manor that Claire could’ve sworn shook the china, as she and Jamie were having lunch the next day. “Where are ye, ye wee eejit?!”

Claire looked startled at Jamie, himself looking like he’d swallowed a bag of nails.

“Who-”

“My sister, Jenny,” he said standing up, the picture of discombobulation. “Please, just wait here, let me talk to her first-”

“Jamie…” Claire slowly standing up herself. “You haven’t told her I’ve been staying here, have you?!” He shook his head helplessly.

“ _JAMIE_!” Jenny voice boomed again.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

 _She must be one hell of a force of nature,_  Claire thought amused,  _if she can make a man the size and presence of Jamie, jump._

Jamie intercepted Jenny as she made her way to the dining room. Seeing him, she immediately launched into what Jamie knew would be a scalping he wasn’t likely to recover from any time soon if he didn’t get a hold of the situation soon.

“You dare bring some Sassenach trollop ye barely know to live in our family home?! Out of wedlock like some immoral French dandy?”

“It isna what ye think, Janet! I’d have hoped ye’d have a wee bit more trust and respect for me to know that. And you’re one to talk, with the parting gift ye gave Ian before we left for the war,” Jamie said, his temper getting the better of him.

“I  _married_ him when he got back! Did I not?” She spat back.

“Aye, ye did, but it doesna give ye the right to come barking at me, wi’ no knowing what’s going on here, does it!”

They stared each other down for a good long minute. Finally Jamie let out an exasperated breath and said, “So, d’ye want me to explain it to ye, or would ye rather just continue yelling at me?”

She looked utterly rebellious, but after a moment, her shoulders drooped and she relented. “Aye, explain it, but I dinna promise not to box yer ears till they bloody rattle when yer done.”

With that, Jamie led her outside and told her all he knew. And all he felt. Jenny let him speak, feeling the weight of what he said and the truth of his intentions.

An hour later, the Fraser siblings stalked into the dining room, where Claire had patiently waited. She heard their heated hallway battle, Jamie’s deep Gaelic rumbles as he walked the gardens with his sister, but seeing them now, disheveled from their encounter, they couldn’t have been more different. She imagined a giant when she heard Jenny and wasn’t at all expecting the diminutive firecracker before her.

“So,” Jenny said, reluctantly, “Jamie’s told me about ye and why yer here, Elizabeth.” Claire shot a look at Jamie, who shrugged, _I didn’t know what else to say_ , it seemed to say. “I willna pretend I understand it all, but I willna fault him for helping ye.”

Jamie, looking thoroughly relieved, came and stood by Claire’s side.

Jenny stayed the night, opting to drive back to Inverness the next day. After an awkward few minutes, conversation came easy once the subject turned to art, Claire and Jenny having a lot of the same tastes, it turned out. Claire came to have a genuine affection for Jenny, it wasn’t hard once you got past the tough exterior. She was fiercely protective of Jamie, of that Claire had no doubt, but she was also one of the most nurturing people she’d ever met.

She found herself hoping, that Jenny had liked her too.

***

Claire had been blissfully knee deep in the kaleyard all morning and jolted when young Rabbie tapped her shoulder.

“A letter arrived for ye, Mistress,” he said, a little startled himself.

“A letter? For me?”

“Aye, a telegram had been sent to the inn in the village, and they kent ye were here, so they sent in on,” he explained, handing her an envelope and turned to leave.

“How’d they know to send it here,” she said, more to herself.

“‘Tis a small village, Mistress.”

***

Claire stood by the fire in her room rereading the letter over and over. The words seemingly unable to sink in properly.

_COME BACK NOW_

_WITH OR WITHOUT THE NECKLACE_

_OR HE FINDS OUT EVERYTHING._

She’d known it was coming. She’d known she’d been stupid, _utterly stupid_ , to stay.  _She’d known_. And yet seeing the words screaming at her sent a painful shockwave through her. Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since she’d first read it and thought it unlikely they’d ever stop.

_OR HE FINDS OUT EVERYTHING._

Her hand instinctively fisted around the telegram.

She’d let things go too far, get too real. Meeting Jenny - his flesh and blood - had been too real. The past couple of weeks with Jamie had been a fantasy. One she embraced and cherished with every fibre of her being, but a fantasy she knew would come crashing around her. But damned if she was going to let it crush Jamie as well. The pain inside her threatened to double her over from the thought of what the truth would do to him. But Claire knew what she had to do, knew it the day he’d gotten injured and she’d chosen her path, knew it had only been a matter of time. And so she steeled herself. Balling the telegram up, she threw into the fire and watched it burn.

***


	7. Chapter 7

## Chapter 7.

 

 

“What are you thinking, Sassenach?” Jamie asked, seeing the distance in Claire’s eyes growing.

She stopped swirling her whisky and looked up at him. He sat across from her, cradling his own drink. She still hadn’t been able to shake off the telegram she’d gotten earlier. She smiled faintly, “Nothing. Just exhausted.” It wasn’t a lie. She’d been feeling that imposing weight push against her for so long and while she’d pushed back for as long as she could, the telegram had deflated her, sapped her.

Jamie nodded and drained his whisky.

“It is getting rather late. Perhaps we should call it a night?” he said. She nodded in agreement.

They walked up the stairs in silence, Claire’s mind hopping from one thought to another. There was so much she’d wanted to say to Jamie since receiving the telegram, but still hadn’t found the words. Far too soon they were at her guest room door. And like every other night before, Jamie stood before her, her hand in his, and though their kisses had lost their tentativeness and were replaced by a growing hunger, Claire could feel Jamie holding back. Like he did every night. The final threshold he never let himself cross, knowing to do so would mean no going back.

She knew he’d only do so if she willed it.

She felt him begin to pull back, and felt all the things she hadn’t been able to say bubble up and take hold, deep inside. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, but she knew there was a way to show him. A way that would show him what her battered and bruised heart held for him. There would be no more doubt, no more hesitation. She grabbed his shoulders, stilling him.

“No,” she whispered.

“Sassenach—”

She ran her hands down his arms and let them rest on his waist. He let out a long sigh as he brought his forehead against hers.

“If I stay here one more minute, I dinna think I’ll be able to control myself,” he said, his accent’s lilt deepening.

“Then don’t,” she said, and before he could protest, she captured his mouth with hers. His hips swayed towards hers.

“It isna right,” he said feebly, “Your repu—”

“Jamie Fraser, if you talk about my reputation one more time,” Claire said with an exasperated laugh. Pulling away to look at him, she saw his eyes hooded with desire. It ran just as deep as hers. ““Whatever troubles happen around us, it doesn’t signify here,” remember? Those were your words, Jamie. Do you want me?” she asked bluntly.

“Oh, God, yes,” he near growled against her lips, his body yielding to hers.

That was all she needed to hear. She grabbed the front of his shirt and slowly pulled him into her bedroom, shutting the door behind him and pinned him to it.

Neither bothering to mask or temper the hunger they felt anymore, they nipped and bit each others lips outright, unable to get enough. Claire crushed her body against his, her hands burrowing into his hair. He groaned, trying to get a proper hold on her, but the sling restricted his movement. He pushed off the door and roughly ripped it off.

“Easy,” Claire said with a smile.

But he didn’t seem to hear her as he wrapped both arms around her properly for the first time - his hands exploring her back, hips, neck, then finally taking a firm hold of her rear. He sighed. “I canna tell ye how long I’ve wanted to have ye so.”

Claire ran her hand down his cheek and let it run lower till she gentle hooked her fingers in the hem of his shirt. Meeting his gaze everything seemed to slow down then, a patter of rain began to play a light rhythm against the windowsill, drowning out the sound of the world beyond. She gently helped him out of his shirt, then ran her hand over his bound ribs - still tender, still healing.

She wore her simple blue floral dress that buttoned all the way down the front. Jamie’s eyes unbuttoned each and every one. “I…,” he said, voice shaking. She gave him a questioning look. “I havena done this before,” he said shyly, unable to meet her eye.

Claire smiled and taking his hand in hers, guided it to the top button. His fingers trembled slightly as he began unfastening them. His eyes glazed over as with each open button, a little more of the porcelain skin hidden beneath was exposed. As he got to her navel, he slipped the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He took a step back. She stood before him in nothing but a plunging V-neck, cream silk slip. She slid off her shoes and took a step towards him. With her shoes off, the closest she could reach without tip-toeing was his collarbone and neck, which she ran her lips and tongue and teeth along, making Jamie shiver. Her fingers deftly undoing his trousers.

He step out of them and brought Claire flush against him once more, walking her backwards toward the bed. He brushed the strap of her slip off her shoulder, his lips following its path and smiled against her as he felt her skin erupt with gooseflesh where his lips had been.

Her breathing became increasingly shallow as he filled her senses completely. The drumming noise inside her that had once threatened to overwhelm her, was now deafening, making her light headed. She clung to his shoulders as her slip fell further down, exposing her breast and Jamie continued to follow its path, now with his tongue and teeth, he nipped at her sending an exquisite shudder through her body. As his head moved to the other breast, Claire - her watery knees barely able to hold her upright - traced her hands over his back, running them down till they snuck beneath his boxers and cupped him, squeezing. He moaned, making to pick her up, but she stopped him. That small part of her brain that still harbored coherent thought remembered his ribs and the strain her weight would have on them. Instead she helped him out of his boxers, and lay herself onto the bed, pulling him with her, making sure he lay on his good side.

He was ready and the effort to control himself and keep pace with her excruciating gentleness made his body spasm with wave after wave of it. His hands moved of their own accord, finally pushing her slip all the down and off her hips, where his hand lingered. Jamie’s eyes roamed her body, as hers did of his, drinking in every detail.

“Dear God,” he said, his fingers tracing circles on her hip and waist, “I never thought I’d have ye like this. I’d dreamed… But never dared to think.”

“Every night I lay alone in this bed,” she whispered against his cheek, “I’d wish you’d just knock on that bloody door. Wish I could feel you beside me.”

He smiled, tugging her to him. They took their time, languidly exploring with their lips and fingers. He found her breast again and took her nipple into his mouth, and sucked. She arched her back wanting more, but he continued to tease her, brushing his lips along her chest and neck.  _Two can play that game_ , she thought and ran the flat of her thumb lightly over his nipple before pinching it. She got the reaction she was looking for when she felt his body shiver and the rumble of his moan deep in his chest.

Her fingers moved over him, taking in the shape of him, memorizing every inch of him she could. She tasted his mouth and the hollow of his chest. She tipped her head back giving his mouth free reign of her neck, his stubble rasping pleasantly against her sensitive skin. Feeling his questing fingers dip below her navel, she draped her leg over his hip, giving his hand room to work, to explore her completely, her own hand delving between them.

When he could take no more of the alternating pressure she’d been applying, his hips jerked making him twitch in her hand. Taking his meaning, she bit his bottom lip and guided him home.

They both sighed in an almost agonized relief. For a moment, Jamie didn’t move, just buried his face in her neck and took a deep breath. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rocked her hips once. He rocked his in answer. They began to move together, then, Claire meeting his every thrust. Their bodies molding and melting into one another, Claire unable to tell where she ended and Jamie began. Their sweat slicked bodies meeting in a magnetic rhythm.

Claire felt like they could’ve moved like that all night, but saw the inevitable build in Jamie eyes, felt his hips begin to buck erratically, her own muscles contracting as her end neared. She tightened her leg around him as they both sent each other shattering.

***

“You know, for someone who claims they’ve never done this before, you sure seem to know your way around well enough,” Claire teased, as she played with the hairs on his chest. The rumble of his laugh reverberating through her.

“Oh, I’ve had enough time to think about what I’d like to do to you, had I had you naked and willing. That was just the tip of the iceberg, my friend,” he said, running his hand down her backbone.

“I can confidently say, I was more than willing,” she said.

He laughed again, but grimaced immediately, gently massaging small circles into his ribs.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She asked, concerned. She propped herself up on her elbow and checked the binding.

“Och, no! It’s just a little bit tender still,” he said and pinched her bum.

“You’re sure? You really shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this.” Swatting his hand away, she kept fussing with the binding and he took her hand in his.

“I’m fine, I swear. Besides I wasna planning on exerting myself, was I? As I remember it,  _you_ pulled me in here. As far as I’m concerned,  _if_ I do leave here with anymore injuries, it’s only fair you doctor me back to health,” he said smugly.

“Fair, is it?” she said as she traced his lips with a finger. “Have you really never done this before? Has there never been anyone else?”

“No,” he answered. “When I was stationed in Paris, I met someone. Annalise. I thought I kent then what love was, what it meant to want someone more than anything, but…” he went silent, trying to find the right words. “You know how it is, the tension and fear and the feeling that everything could get ripped away from ye at any moment. ‘I canna die before I know love!’ and all that. I thought Annalise was that for me,” he finished quietly.

“And was she?” Claire asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

“A couple of stolen kisses and a few love letters doesna constitute real love. And I realize now that infatuation was all it really was, fueled by fear of being alone. Annalise felt that far more than I did, I think, that fear. I got a  _Dear John_  from her as I recovered in England, she’d married someone else. Someone closer to home. I canna say I wasna heartbroken at the time, but I know I ken the difference now.” He tangled his fingers in her curls and made to pull her in for a kiss, but she leaned away watching him, a sad tenderness in her eyes. It wasn’t pity, but a knowing.

“The Roseline to your Romeo?” she said jokingly, making him laugh.

“If ye like. Does that make ye my Juliet, then?” His hand found her breast and began kneading it.

“Well,” she said with a laugh, laying back down, “So long as we don’t die in the end.”

“Och, there’s only one  _‘death’_  I’m interested in, Sassenach,” he said cheekily, rolling on top of her.

“Oh no you don’t! Jamie, you shouldn’t be putting any pressure on your injuries like that,” she said, as she tried pushing back down on his side.

“Stop that! I can hold my weight just fine,” he protested and peppered her neck and face with kisses as she writhed beneath him. When he finally found her mouth, her body’s writhing turned to something else, something eager. Their tongues met slow and leisurely, hips meeting flush against each other, but his arm suddenly gave way, his full dead-weight landing on top of her.

“Oof! Hold your weight, is it?! Murtagh was right, you weigh as much a bloody horse!” Claire said, trying to push him off without hurting him.

“God, sorry! Have I hurt ye, Sassenach?” he said, scrabbling to get off.

“No,” she said, helping him lie back. He seemed slightly winded.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “I just, I canna be near ye and not want ye, nor look at ye and keep my hands from ye.”

Claire knew the feeling all too well, felt the tightening of want in her body and without a word swung herself over him, settling down across his hips. A flash of shock shot across his face, but he quickly took on her meaning. He ran his hand up and down her thighs, then settled them on her hips as she began rocking back and forth. His hands floated up her body and she tipped her head back with a sigh as he entered her.

Yes, if this was death, he thought, then he’d welcome it gladly.

***

They fell asleep in each others arms, sated and safe. The rain had not relented throughout the night and continued to come down around them. Claire held onto to Jamie, committing to memory every hollow and scar, the taste and smell of him. The color and thickness of his hair, the way he lay relaxed under her touch. She’d wanted to give him something real and undeniable, something he could never doubt. She’d freed her heart and body to him wholly and had been embraced and cherished by him in return. But she still had one thing left to give him. The one thing she’d longed to give from first they met. And so, as he finally began to doze off, sleep inexorably pulling him away from her, she kissed him just below his ear and whispered, “My name… Is Claire.” At first, she didn’t think he’d heard her, then the single, sweetest lopsided smile tugged at his lips. A moment later, he was fast asleep.

By dawn, she was gone.

***


	8. Chapter 8

## Chapter 8.

 

 Jamie slowly came awake and immediately knew the space beside him was empty, but stretched out a hand nonetheless, feeling the cold sheets.

“Claire?” he said, voice still heavy with sleep. Her name felt like a prayer on his lips - both light and all encompassing.  _Claire_. He’d feared he’d simply dreamed it, but he knew it to be true with the flutter his heart gave at the mere thought of her name. 

The room’s stillness was so at odds with the violent lashing the manor was still getting from the rain. Her scent still lingered on the sheets and all around him, as he sat up and scanned the room. The armoire stood ajar and empty. A jolt of fear speared through him as his eyes rested upon a folded piece of paper beside him. “What did you do?” he whispered as he took the paper and unfolded it.

_I’m so sorry._

“God dammit,  _Sassenach_!” he exclaimed helplessly, bolting out of the bed, the pain in his chest far outweighing that of his ribs.

***

Claire drove as hard as she could, wiping away the tears as they welled up. She’d been unable to staunch their flow since walking out of the bedroom. It had taken every last drop of strength she had, but to save him the heartache of knowing what she really was, she’d do anything and hoped for his sake, what he felt for her didn’t run as deeply as what she felt for him.

She tried writing him a note, tried telling him what it was she felt for him, yet how could she? How could she say those things as she prepared to leave him for good? And just like the night before, words failed her, and the longer she stared at the piece of paper, pen hovering over, the longer she knew she only had three agonizing ones she really needed to say. And as part of her hoped he’d not wake to see her, hoped the rain would muffle her cowardly get away, a deeper part yearned for him to open his eyes, would hear the cranking of the ignition. Her heart wished he’d stop her.

She drove back to London as if on autopilot, her mind registering nothing of her surroundings. Her night with Jamie kept replaying itself; every touch and sigh, every movement and hitch of breath. Their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces the other didn’t know it had been missing.

By the time she’d pulled up in front of the dull gray building where Frank had his gallery - a front for his base of operations - she’d cried herself out. She took a few moments to gather herself once more, shaking off the grief and weariness from her body, knowing she’d need whatever reserves of strength she had for the confrontation ahead.

The gallery itself was minimalistic and unassuming. Completely the opposite of Frank’s true tastes. He had his usual guards unobtrusively making the rounds, watching the entrance and patrons like hawks, but they knew her and made no move to stop her as she walked straight into the back where Frank’s office was.

He was behind his desk, jotting something down when she shut the door. He looked up and smirked at the sight of her, then leaned back and watched her a moment too long. His smirk grew.

“Well?” he said.

She kept her features as neutral as she could as she saw that insufferable cocky arrogance of his seep out of him. He knew very well the answer, but she said it anyway. “I don’t have it.”

***

Jamie had only one option. Even though he knew where she lived, he didn’t know in which flat and while he would have knocked on every bloody door if he had to, he wasn’t wasting another second in finding her. That left him Colum.

“Ye canna do this lad,” Murtagh said, as he watched Jamie rummage through his closet. Jamie’d called for him to ask if anyone had seen her leave. None had. The rain had thoroughly masked any noise her car made.

“She’s in trouble, Murtagh. I know it,” Jamie replied, agitated.

“Did she tell ye that?”

“No, but from what she  _did_ tell me… I feel it in my bones. Wherever she’s gone isna a good place to be.” Jamie straightened up, finally finding what he’d been looking for.

“Lad… I canna let ye do this. Not alone. Not like this!” Murtagh said with alarm, seeing what Jamie had in his hand.

“You canna stop me, but I willna say no to yer help, if ye’ll give it,” Jamie said, looking at Murtagh for the first time since he’d walked into his bedroom.

Murtagh, seeing the desperation in his godson’s eyes, the tension and adrenaline barely held at bay, coiled tightly within him just waiting to burst free, had only one thing he could say. “I’ll get the car warmed up.”

“Thank ye,  _a goistidh_!” Jamie said with a breath of relief, as he tucked his pistol into the back of his trousers, grabbed his jacket and headed after Murtagh.

Jamie knew he couldn’t have been more than two hours behind her. Knew that his land rover was more powerful than her Minor. With any luck they’d make up good time and catch her up on the long drive back to London. His only hope was that she was actually headed back to London. If she wasn’t… He couldn’t bring himself to think of that just yet.

***

“And ye ken where this Mackenzie’s tavern is?” Murtagh asked for the hundredth time.

“Aye, I think I do,” he said yet again, as they drove around the busy London streets. It had been an agonizing journey. Near ten hours of his mind racing through one horrid possibility to the next. Yet his body still echoed with the shape of her, her scent still heady in his mind, his fingers and lips still remembered the feel of her skin as it erupted with gooseflesh over and over.

Finding the right street took more time than Jamie liked, but once he did, getting Murtagh to stay in the car had been an even more grand waste of time.

“I dinna need ye to scare him! I want the man’s help and ye going in there looking like vengeance incarnate isna going to help,” Jamie said as they walked up to the tavern’s door.

“Well, ye wee gomerel, I didna come all the way here to sit in the bloody rover, did I?”

“Just, let me do the talking and dinna glare so much,” Jamie said as he knocked on the door.

“I willna make such promises,” Murtagh said, standing at his shoulder.

The behemoth Angus answered the door looking as imposing as Jamie remembered.

“I need to speak wi’ Colum. It’s urgent,” Jamie said without preamble. Seeing Angus’ stoic, inexpressive reaction, his anxiety began to rise, “Please. Beauchamp, she could be in danger, I need his help to find her!”

Angus had seemed inclined to keep blankly staring at him, but at the mention of her, something stirred in those dark eyes and he motioned them in. It was still early and the tavern only sparsely occupied, Colum sat at the bar doing inventory with the barman. Angus tapped him on the shoulder and he looked up, distracted, but eyes immediately sharpening a the sight of Jamie. A clever cunning dancing in his eyes.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again, Fraser, is it?” He said casually.

“I’m here to ask for yer help. Claire-” God, just saying her name out loud threatened to undo him, “-She was worried about some impending business she had, she didna tell me what it was, but it troubled her. Deeply. And now she’s left, I dinna ken where, but I canna just let her go into it alone.”

“Left  _ye_ , ye mean? Ye’ve fallen for the lass, that was plain to see the night you two were here, and now ye canna stand the thought of her leaving ye,” Colum said, giving Murtagh a once over.

“It isn’t that!” Jamie almost shouted, the urge to slam his fist onto the bar was building in him. “I just need to find her, at the very least to just make sure she’s safe.”

Colum watched him closely, and Jamie was sure he could see the desperation rip through him. “Look, lad, I understand! The lass is easy to fall in love with, but she has a mind of her own, and if she chose to leave ye, you should respect that. The lass has a life ye aren’t a part of. If she wanted it so, she’d ha’ told you by now.”

“No, you don’t understand. This… I think this has to do with her  _husband_ ,” the word near choked him. Colum’s face tightened at once.

“She told you about him,” Colum said, more to himself. It wasn’t a question, but Jamie’s answered anyway.

“Aye, some.”

Colum looked at Jamie a moment longer than he was all that comfortable with. Then, coming to a decision, he began jotting something down. “I try never to pry into her affairs more than she’s willing to share, but I know enough about her and that man. He wasna always bad, but he wasna really good either. But time and the war hardened something in him, that no one can fix. Claire stopped trying a very long time ago. In certain circles, his reputation precedes him. I dinna ken what she told you, but anything involving Frank Randall can never be good.” He ripped out the page he’d been writing on and handed it to Jamie. “Her home address and Frank’s gallery. If ye want to find her, my money would be to check the gallery first. But,” he said as Jamie and Murtagh made for the door, “Be warned, lad. Frank may seem an unassuming gentleman, but the man has claws.”

 _So do I_ , Jamie thought.

***

They watched the gallery from a distance, the rover partially hidden in an alley, marking the men they suspected of being Frank’s goons who to an untrained eye, blended into the people around them almost seamlessly.

A wave of alarm had gone through Jamie as he’d spotted Claire’s Minor parked outside, but now more than ever he needed to keep a clear head if he needed to get her out unharmed.

“How do ye propose we get in, then?” Murtagh asked.

Colum had told him about a side-door entrance he could use to get in, but without knowing the inner layout, he’d still be blind once inside.

“What we need, is a distraction,” Jamie said. “Pull out as many of those men as ye can, then get out without being followed. I’ll slip in the side and get her out, then we’ll meet ye here,” he handed Murtagh an address.

“Lad, should things go bad-”

“Dinna say it, Murtagh. We’ll see you there.” And with that, Jamie slipped out of the car.

***

“Four weeks, Claire. Four bloody weeks, two of which you’ve been living under his roof and you have  _nothing_ to show for it? Oh, don’t give me that look, did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out where you’ve been?” Frank sneered at her. “How long did you think you could go on playing house?”

Claire’s blood was pounding in her ears as she sat across from him. Dealing with Frank had always been precarious. But now more than ever, she knew she was on dangerous ground. If she was to get him to sign the divorce papers once and for all, he could never know the true nature and depth of her feelings and relationship with Jamie. “I wasn’t “playing house”, I had been trying to find a way into his wretched safe,” she said as coldly as she could.

“And you  _still_ couldn’t get in?” He asked skeptically.

“No.”

“I must say, I’m rather surprised by that. You mustn’t want the divorce as badly as you say you do, because the Claire  _Randall_ ,” he saw her stiffen and smiled, “I know would have done what she needed to do to get what she wanted.”

“I’m not the woman I once was,” She replied, not bothering to mask any of the distaste she felt for him.

“Clearly,” he said, getting up and poured himself a drink from a tray he kept beside his desk. “So, seems we’re at an impasse. A necklace for a divorce. And we have neither. I hope you haven’t come here completely empty handed and actually have an alternative to suggest.”

“I do actually.”

“That’s my girl,” he smirked over the rim of his glass.

Claire had had a lot of time to think of something to offer Frank. She knew any bargain she made with him now would be absolute. For both of them. “One last job. Same as before. I get you the prize of your choosing, you sign the papers and we’re done for good. No more contact. A clean break.”

Frank moved to her side of the desk and leaned against its edge, watching her. “One last  _successful_ job.”

She nodded.

“And if you fail?”

“I’ll stay.”

He smiled broadly. There’d been a time Claire had loved that smile, now it only curdled her blood.

“As it just so happens, my darling, I have just the one in mind,” he said, leaning back and rummaged through a stack of envelopes on his desk, coming away with a large, thick brown one and handed it to her. She knew before opening it, the color of paper he used, the number of pages, his preferred handwritten style; the signature styles with which he passed intel to all his crew. Frank loved the exclusivity it gave his operation. A muffled din of commotion sounded somewhere in the distance.

She gingerly opened it and slipped a picture out. “Are you insane?!” she exclaimed, seeing it, “Frank, this… this is madness. It can’t be done!”

“It  _will_ be done.”

“Find another,” she said, standing up and throwing the envelope back on his desk, her agitation rising. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to him, his eyes flashing with the memory of the last time he’d held her so.

“This is the bargain, like it or not. I pick the jobs, remember? Let us see just how much you truly want your freedom, my darling,” he growled.

“I’d thank ye to take your hands off of her.” Claire’s head wiped round, a mixture of relief and utter dread washed over her at the sight of Jamie in the doorway, pistol drawn and pointed straight at Frank. “And dinna be calling her that.”

***

 _What in fuck’s name is he doing here?!_  Claire wanted to scream, as Jamie came in and shut the door, his eyes never leaving Frank’s. Frank’s entire body tensed, shock and anger flooding his features.

“Ah, you must be the infamous Fraser, I assume,” he sneered, subtly angling Claire between him and Jamie.

Jamie’s aim didn’t waver.

“I’m afraid you’ve barged in at the most inopportune moment. Claire and I were in the middle of something.”

Jamie took a step further into the room. His entrance had been as silent as death, even now, his footfalls were no more than whispers.

“Jamie,” Claire called, “Jamie, look at me.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off Frank from the moment he’d walked in, but at the sound of her voice, he turned his attention to her, eyes softening with tenderness. And hurt. “You need to leave. Please, Jamie. You shouldn’t be here!”

“Not without you,” he said with a dangerous quiet.

“I have this under control,” she said, trying to pull her arm free. Frank’s hold tightened.

“Aye, I can see that,” Jamie said cynically.

“So what’s the plan, Fraser? Throw the damsel over your shoulder and shoot your way out?” Frank said casually, settling Claire firmly between his legs as he watched Jamie over her shoulder.

“If I have to.”

 _Oh, for God’s sake!_  Claire’s dread was quickly being replaced with annoyance. She recognized that stubborn look. She knew he meant it. And she was damned if she was going to let him get himself killed, here of all places, for her.

“I wouldn’t advise that. Do you even know who it is you’re trying to save? Who it is you’re risking your life for!”

“Frank, please—” Claire began to plead.

“He deserves to know, my darling. She’s been lying to you. Playing you the utter fool, you dumb bastard. Do you actually think you met by happenstance? Far from it. It was by  _design_ ,” Frank said, relishing every word.

Jamie’s face tightened, his expression becoming unreadable, but Claire could tell, the way his eyes darted between her and Frank, he sought confirmation from Claire for every word Frank uttered. And damn her face, she knew he saw it.

“I sent her to—”

“Breathe another word, Frank, and I will kill you myself, you bastard, you know I can! You have your bloody bargain,” she hissed at him with a venom she never knew she had and reached for the envelope, as a thunder of boots came towards the office door. “Just let us leave here, unharmed.”

Frank’s grip on her tightened for a fraction, but loosened completely a moment later, triumph glinting in his eyes.

***


	9. Chapter 9

## Chapter 9.

 

 

 They met up with Murtagh at the rendezvous point after their hasty exit from the gallery. Jamie hadn’t said a word to her save the address where they were to meet Murtagh and after a few, quick murmured words, Jamie handed him the pistol and Murtagh hopped back into the rover and left. Claire knew they had to talk alone and he was letting her choose the battleground.

 _Alright_ , she thought,  _my flat it is, then._

The silence was unrelenting during their drive, Claire feeling the waves of anger emanating from Jamie as he blankly stared out the window. Everything she’d done to try and avoid hurting him, everything she’d tried to protect him from, had been for nothing.

The walk up the stairs was an agony of echoing footfalls, Jamie took a moment to look around when they got inside her flat, what he searched for, she couldn’t tell, but he clearly wasn’t going to say a word till she did. And what  _could_ she say? How to even begin?

She took off her coat, feeling Jamie’s eyes bore into her back. “Would you like a drink?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

“No, thank you. What I’d really like though,” he said, trying not to grind his teeth, “Are some answers.”

She nodded and gestured to the couch. He hesitated a moment, then sat. She took the seat opposite him. Her little coffee table feeling like an unbridgeable ravine between them. “I’m honestly not even sure where to start,” she said, clasping her hands together to stop them shaking.

“At the beginning, if ye please. Your name. The night we met.”

She could see - even though it bubbled just beneath the surface - how much he fought to keep his voice even, his temper in check.

“Alright then,” she said, steeling herself. “My name  _is_ Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. My uncle  _was_ Quentin Lambert ‘Lamb’ Beauchamp. And the night we met, I wasn’t in the Manor for you…” And she told him everything. It came pouring out her in one great cascade. Told him about Frank’s obsession with rare pieces, about the day Jamie’d gotten injured, “I got into the safe and the moment I held the necklace in my hands, I knew, I  _knew_ , I’d made a terrible mistake. I’d known it long before then if I’m being honest with myself, but hadn’t been brave enough to admit to it to myself yet. It felt like lead in my hands. I decided right then that I’d go back to Frank without it. Tell him I was done and that this job was over. But I just… I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t leave without knowing you were alright, and well, you know the rest,” she finished quietly.

Jamie buried his hands in his hair, he’d bowed his head and hadn’t looked up once as she recounted her story. “A thief?” he finally said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Is that all I was, then? A means to an end for ye? Was it all a lie then, Claire?”

Hearing him say her name for the first time, with a wrenching mixture of pain and tenderness, seared her heart.

“No! That isn’t all it was, have you not been listening?! That was  _never_ all it was, damn you,” she said heatedly.

“ _Damn_  me?!” he said, voice rising as he stood up and began pacing the room. “You just told me everything I thought I kent about ye was a lie! That you intended to use me, steal from me and you expect me to just what? Ignore that?”

“You know that’s not true! Everything, every intimate thing I ever shared with you was true. I promised you that. That first night at the Manor, when we talked on the balcony, something shifted - in the job. In me. Jamie, listen to me, you have to, please. What we had, the time we spent together… that was more real than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life, and I  _know_  you felt it too, I know you did. You felt the truth in that!” she said, rising herself and facing him.

His face crumpled. “I honestly dinna ken what to believe anymore,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

Two large tears welled up in the corners of her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She couldn’t force him to forgive her. Couldn’t force him to want her anymore. But she’d at least - foolishly perhaps - hoped he’d believe her. Believe in what they’d once shared. It ripped her apart seeing the hurt in his eyes.

“All I have left is my word,” she said quietly. “Why did you even bother to come after me, Jamie?”

His eyes snapped to hers. “Why do you bloody think I did! I wake up to a cold bed and this letter-” he yanked out the small piece of paper and threw it onto the little table, “-and you gone, what else was I to do? I’ve never known such fear. Not knowing where you’d gone or what trouble you were heading into. But I knew whatever it was ye left to face, you were in trouble and I wasn’t going to just leave ye!”

“How’d you even find me?” she asked, feeling her body start to get weighed down by exhaustion, she slumped back onto her chair’s armrest.

“Colum.”

She smiled sadly. “Of course,” she sighed as the room plunged into silence, the clock on her mantel growing ever louder with every tick. “So, now you know it all. What is it that you want, Jamie?”

He ran his hands through his hair once more, making it stand on end. He turned to face her and his shoulders drooped, defeated. “I dinna ken.”

She nodded. “It was foolish and naive to think this was anything more than a fantasy. I don’t think we really have anything else to say to each other,” she said, voice shaking. She got up and headed for her bedroom, but turned to him as she reached the door. “I know what I did was unforgivable, I betrayed you and I don’t know how to even begin to make things right if ever they could be, but I cannot bare to see the hurt in your eyes for one more moment. If this is goodbye, then let it be with this; I fell for you - whether you believe it or not - I love you.”

With that, she closed her bedroom door, her last glimpse of Jamie, rooted to the spot, stunned, in the middle of her living room.

***

Claire paced her room, tired as she was, her body reverberated with adrenaline. She stopped to listen if any noises came from the living room, then quickly made for her bathroom, realizing the wretched sound of the front door opening and closing would surely destroy her. She ran the shower, hoping it would drown out any sounds from the rest of the flat, and stripped off her grimy clothes and let the hot water wash the horrid day off her. How had she let things get so out of hand, so quickly? The water mingled with her tears, washing them away, but it could never wash away the painful sting in her eyes - in her heart. She leaned her head against the wall and prayed she’d have the strength to face whatever future awaited her on the other side of her shower.

She didn’t hear him, didn’t hear the door open or close, didn’t let herself believe what her senses began screaming at her, till she felt his arms come around her from behind and pull her into him, burying his face into her neck.

He’d shrugged off his shoes, but walked into the shower still wearing his shirt and trousers. He didn’t care that he’d gotten soaked through within moments. All he cared about was holding her.

A sob escaped her, she didn’t dare open her eyes yet, for fear his presence was only a figment of her imagination. A figment of her yearning. But as she let out another sob, his arms tightened about her and she knew he was real. Claire let her head fall back onto his shoulder and turned to press her forehead into his neck.

“I  _am_ sorry,” she whispered, barely audible over the rushing water. She felt him shake his head.

“Dinna be sorry,” he whispered back. “I‘m the one who should be sorry. I ask your pardon for what I said.”

“Don’t,” she said, turning in his arms and wrapping her hands around his shoulders. “Don’t you be sorry either, you have nothing to be apologizing for. Not one bloody thing! There’s nothing to forgive.”

He pulled back to rest his forehead on hers, their eyes finally meeting. “Ye have to know, I do trust yer word. With every fibre of my being, I ken what we had -  _have_  - is real and blinding. It was my pride that was hurt, nothing more. I dinna understand it all yet, but I ken one thing. There’s nothing ye can ever do that’ll stop me loving ye, Claire. I need ye to know that.”

“I hoped - I prayed - you would.” She breathed for what felt like the first time that day.

He took her face in his hands then and kissed her. A kiss that told her of all the agonies he’d been through that day. And she answered fervently in kind. A hunger to see and be seen completely - no more secrets, no more barriers between - overtook them both. She tore at his clothes impatiently, pulling him free of them and raked his back. He growled against her mouth, his body crushing hers against the wall.

Claire felt the paths each individual rivulet of water took down her body. The steaming water caressing her breasts, back, ribs and neck. She moaned feeling Jamie’s tongue take the same journey as the rivulets, dipping ever lower. She braced herself as Jamie hooked her leg over his shoulder, knowing he didn’t mean to stop till he had her trembling. Nor did she want him to. Finally he rose, gripping her thighs and lifting her up in the same motion - ribs be damned. A piercing heat went straight up her spine as he sheathed himself to her. He buried his face into her chest, letting the feel of her surround him, his knees nearly giving way. They wrapped around each other, arms and legs locking tight, neither willing to give an inch of space away ever again.

***

“Can I ask ye a question?” Jamie said, as Claire sat up and stretched. Her bed wasn’t as big as his, but he preferred it so - she was never far from reach. He ran his fingers lightly over her back.

“Anything,” she quickly replied.

“Well, what I mean to ask is, I ken you’ve done this a while… that is… not  _this_ , but the job, and my question is - and I dinna mean to be prying-”

“Just say it, Jamie,” Claire interrupted his babbling with a laugh.

“Is it usual? What it is between us? Everything’s just happened so quickly, I don’t really know…” his voice trailed off quietly.

She turned to look at him and took his hand in hers. She ran her fingers through his, taking in the shape of his powerful wrist, the calloused fingers. “None of this has been usual,” she said with a smile. “When you touch me, when we lie together. No, this isn’t usual, it’s different.” And seeing the lingering question in his eyes he couldn’t bring himself to ask, she continued, “I’ve done a number of jobs over the years, but I’ve never once gotten close to the marks.  _Never_ anything like this. I always kept myself detached, only finding out enough to get the job done.  _You_ were most definitely my anomaly,” she finished cheekily.

“Aye?” he smiled back at her and hooked his hands behind his head, pleased with himself. She rolled her eyes and slipped out of bed, taking the sheet with her, holding it to her front but left her back exposed - from head to heel. Jamie hummed with appreciation. She looked over her shoulder at him, a coquettish gleam in her eyes and Jamie’s cock twitched at the sight. “Damn ye,” he said, still smiling, making her laugh.

She headed for the side table for a much needed glass of water, but at her feet she spotted the brown envelope Frank had given her, poking out of her bag she’d dropped when she’d rushed into the room hours earlier. Jamie followed her gaze.

“I really wish you hadn’t made that wretched bargain with him,” he said.

“I really wish I hadn’t either. But I had no choice and the bastard knew it,” she replied, walking over to the side table.

“What is it? The job?”

“A fucking fool’s errand, is what it is. An urban legend. Frank’s way of setting me up for failure.”

“What are we going to do?”

“ _We_ aren’t going to do anything. I don’t want you part of this, Jamie.”

“There is no way in hell I’m letting you do this alone, whatever  _this_  is, woman! We are in this together now. Whatever you decide, I’m here. For good,” he said, sitting up.

“No getting rid of you, is there,” she said, seeing that stubborn determination on his face.

“Not even in the slightest. Now, what and where is this job, Sassenach?”

She smiled at him and tossed him the envelope. “The  _what_ is rather complicated. The  _where_ though,” she said conspiratorially, sitting beside him as he emptied the contents of the envelope onto the bed, “Is Paris.”

***


	10. Chapter 10

## Chapter 10.

 

_Paris._

 They sat in a little café across the street from the  _Le Meurice_  hotel, drinking dark, rich coffee, its heady, sultry aroma blanketing them, a plate of half-eaten chocolate strawberry crepes between them. Jamie still couldn’t believe he was in Paris, let alone on the verge of trying to pull off the impossible. Or so Claire had said.

***

_“In a week’s time, there’ll be an auction held in Paris. Highly exclusive, highly secretive. Never in the same location. Nobody knows by whom the auctions are organized, only the when and where, days before the event. And even then, only certain channels get fed the information,” she said, as she sat cross legged - sheet wrapped about her - on her bed beside Jamie, the papers from the envelope strewn between them._

_Jamie picked up the photo of a man in an ornate turban, wearing a massive jeweled necklace. “And this is what we’re after?” he said tapping the necklace._

_“Not the necklace whole, no,” she said critically. “About a year ago, The Patiala necklace disappeared from the Royal Treasury. Near 3000 diamonds, a number of Burmese rubies, seven larger diamonds and the necklace’s masterpiece,” she tapped the largest piece on the necklace, “the ‘De Beers’ diamond. The seventh largest diamond in the world. Rumour has it, after the necklace disappeared, it was broken up, and the De Beers… It’s the most sought after piece in the entire art world at the moment. These secret auctions, only happen when rare pieces surface. Only one item is auctioned at a time, and never are the auctions held more than twice a year - if that… Or so they say.”_

_Jamie let out a low whistle. “He really is a bastard,” he said, as the enormity of the task settled in. “I’m going to go ahead and assume not just anyone’s invited for them either.”_

_“Right you are. Plus getting the diamond in transit will be virtually impossible. We don’t know where it’s coming from, or likely where it’ll be headed after - the buyers representatives attending remain anonymous. The only window we’ll have is the night of the auction,” she finished, letting out a long breath._

_“So,” Jamie said, “We have a week—”_

_“—Nine days to be exact—”_

_“—Nine days to figure out how to infiltrate a highly secretive auction - that no one really kens for sure exists - find and steal the diamond without getting caught and getting away cleanly that no traces lead back to us. That about cover it, d’ye think?”_

_“Give or take a few details along the way - yes, that pretty much covers it.”_

_“Lovely… When do we leave?”_

_“The day after tomorrow.”_

***

So here they sat, the distant sounds of Edith Piaf playing on a gramophone, the smell of cherry blossoms in the air. The beauty of the city so at odds with the daunting task they faced.

“And the bugger’s sure this is where the auction’s going to be?” Jamie asked, taking a bite of crepes. Claire smiled. He had called Frank by every name other than his own ever since the night she’d told him everything.

“According to his contacts, yes. And it is consistent with the rumours we’ve heard. The  _Salon Jeu de Paume_  is small and intimate. And mostly importantly, private. It offers the exclusivity and anonymity the buyers require. But that does not bode well for us. There he is!”

Just then, Murtagh came out of the hotel look gruff and irritable.

“Doesn’t look to happy, does he,” Claire remarked as he made his way towards them.

“Och, nah! That’s just his face,” Jamie replied genially.

Murtagh plopped himself into the seat between them and pulled the plate of crepes towards himself, and before Jamie could protest, plucked the fork out of his hand. They watched him clean the plate as he grumbled something about the reek of frogs.

“Well?” Claire asked after he’d downed her coffee and ordered another.

“The room’s at the back of the hotel. Nice and inconveniently tucked away. There’s a pair of patio doors that lead to a small garden in the back. Entrances and exits are limited at best.”

“Bugger,” Claire breathed.

“But, according to one of the maids, there’s a servants entrance in one of the adjoining rooms that they use to move in and out,  _discreetly_ ,” Murtagh said, grinning like Claire had never seen before.

“And did she happen to disclose anything more?” She asked, and his wolfish grin grew.

“No. But we’ll see what more she says tonight, aye?”

“I didna bring ye along to get yer todger yanked about, ye old numpty!” Jamie said with a laugh.

“Did’ye no’? Aye well, yer lass didna say there was any rule against meeting lovely lasses as we worked out how to get the wee trinket. And Suzette’s a sweet lass, make no mistake.”

“I most certainly did not,” Claire said with a cheeky smile at Jamie. “Far be it from me to get in the way of a little romance.” Jamie cocked an eyebrow at her that sent a shiver down her spine.

“So, Sassenach, have ye a plan yet?” Jamie asked. She nodded slowly, turning her eyes back to the hotel, seemingly seeing more than Jamie could.

“I think I may… We’re going to need a couple more people though,” she answered.

***

Murtagh had already left for his date with Suzette, when Claire and Jamie settled down in their cozy little hotel room for dinner.

“So how many more people do ye think we’ll need to pull this off?” Jamie asked, pouring her a glass of wine.

“Not too many. Colum and a few of his men. And an associate of mine, Geillis. I’ll send for them in the morning.”

“And yer sure they’ll help?”

“Colum’s always ready to help. Geillis… Well, let’s just say, I know how to convince her to,” she gave him a smile and tipped her glass to him in salute.

“I must say, Sassenach, this plan of yours seems rather bold. I dinna know how I feel about it,” he looked over at the papers and drawings she’d done that afternoon, laying out her rough outline.

“There’s no way of doing this without it being risky,” she said.

“Aye, I understand. But, I canna help but think, even  _if_ we manage to get this done, what makes ye think that wee bawbag will keep his word to ye?”

“Frank’s many things, but the one thing he holds himself to any sort of standard, is his word. I have to believe he’ll hold up his end of the bargain.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She swirled her wine a bit. Frank refusing to sign the papers was not an option. Not anymore. “I have a plan for that,” she simply said. “But, I’d much rather think about the first hurdle we have to get past. I need all my focus here for now. So first things first! For this to have  _any_ chance of working, we need to find ourselves a forger,” she said conspiratorially. Jamie’s eyebrows rose. “Luckily, I know just the man for the job.”

Jamie laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think there’ll ever be a time ye’ll never not surprise me, Sassenach.”

“God, I hope not!”

***

Murtagh had returned from his dinner with no more information other than that the  _Salon Jeu de Paume_  had been booked by a very generous patron, who had also requested a handful of hotel staff - Suzette not among them - be vetted by his own security the week leading up to the event. Claire’d also sent out telegrams to both Colum and Geillis before leaving the hotel that morning, praying she’d return to positive responses. Now, she needed to get the ball rolling in earnest.

“A good forger,” Claire was saying as they walked down Rue de Verennes in the early morning mist, “Can make you believe a copy to be the real thing. A  _great_ forger can make you love the copy more than the real thing.”

They got to an ancient looking door that Claire tapped on twice. A tiny man that Jamie could only describe as toad-like to the extreme, opened the door and exclaimed at the sight of Claire, “Madonna!”

“Raymond!” she replied just as enthusiastically and gave him a hug.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, ushering them inside.

“Business, I’m afraid,” Claire replied. As they got to the back of what Jamie saw was an old fashioned apothecary, Claire explained as briefly as she could what the situation was and what was needed.

“Ah, I see. And when do you need the piece?” Raymond asked.

“Within the next seven days,” she replied.

“Madonna. Seven days, I… it cannot be done. It is simply too soon,” Raymond said in disbelief.

“You’re the only one I know who’s actually  _seen_  the De Beers in person before it went missing, Raymond. I know what I ask is difficult—”

“Difficult?!”

“—But if anyone can do it, it’s you,” she said with surprising gentleness. “Please.”

The old man walked around his tiny hole-in-the-wall office muttering to himself, picking things up and putting them down. “To forge a masterpiece, it is simply not enough to copy the image perfectly, to know every detail, one must not mimic - never mimic - one must become the Master himself. To know a painter’s every brush stroke, to know what pigment they favored, the texture of the canvas, the pressure they used on the brush; the brush itself its own master. It is alchemy in motion.” He turned to them then, as if remembering they were there. “To forge an  _artifact_! It is impossible to fully capture the artist’s touch, for every element they use, be it wood, or marble, or  _diamond_ , has its own consciousness. You can create as close a piece to the original as possible, but never its true essence.”

Claire looked at Jamie, her disappointment mirrored in his face, then looked back at Raymond. “Can it truly not be done, then?”

Raymond plumped himself dramatically onto his chair behind his desk, and puffed out a breath. “You challenge me, Madonna! But what is life without a little challenge, uh? For you? Oui, it will be done.”

***

“What time is it?” Claire asked. Her anxiety finally starting to creep in.

“They’ll be here soon,  _ghraidh_. They left soon after they got yer telegrams, they’ll be here any moment,” Jamie said from his perch on the bed.

Dawn had just broken over the city, Murtagh lay half dozing on the room’s tiny sofa. Claire had had a fretful night; getting back to the hotel, she’d received the replies she’d hoped for, and Geillis and Colum (with his men) were en route. Jamie, seeing her unable to shut her mind off resorted to slowly taking her mind off of the impending task. By the time he was done, she was limp and thoroughly sated, managing to finally catch a few hours sleep.

A knock sounded on the door and Claire near jumped out of her skin. She opened it to find Geillis, arm poised against the door frame, lips and floral dress blood red, a designer bag slung over her shoulder and a suitcase by her feet.

“When you said this hotel was off the beaten track, you really meant it. It’s a wee bit of a shithole, Claire, thought you could afford a little better,” she said by way of greeting and walked into the room. Seeing Jamie sprawled on the bed with a newspaper in hand - the epitome of ease - Geillis slid her mocha brown, cat eye sunglasses down her nose, gave him a sweeping look he didn’t seem to notice, then turned back to Claire and whispered with a wink, “I get it now.”

Claire smirked. “Knew that’d get you running here,” Claire said under her breath, rolling her eyes. There was nothing more Geillis loved than getting into everyone’s business, and Claire was no exception. Getting to meet Jamie - the man that’d finally broken Claire’s finely crafted veneer - was just the right incentive to get her to Paris. That, and the utter curiosity of Claire needing her on a job. Claire was certain Geillis had heard whispers of what happened at the gallery and the chance to find out the full story must have been irresistible.

After a quick round of introductions, Claire said, “Keeping a low profile right now is imperative, Geillis. Hence, the “shithole”,” just as Geillis dropped her bag on Murtagh’s feet to get him to move. “Did you bring them?”

“Of course I did! Never leave home without them,” Geillis answered coyly, tapping her suitcase. “You?”

“I was at Raymond’s yesterday,” Claire said, looking over at a sturdy little wooden box.

Another quick rap on the door, heralded their next visitors. Angus came in followed by Colum who had eyes only for Claire. After a quick cursory check that she was alright - “when the lad said you’d gone back to Frank… I willna say he didna scare me” - Claire, early as it was, poured everyone a drink. She looked inquiringly at Colum who nodded and answered, “Dinna fash, lass, I have more men downstairs and a couple more on the way. They’ll be here within the day.”

“Good,” Claire said, letting out a breath of relief. She looked to Jamie who swung his long legs off the bed and braced his elbows on his knees, smiling reassuringly. Claire took a deep breath and began, “I know what I told you both in the telegrams was the bare minimum and I just wanted to thank you for coming here, not knowing the full story, but I couldn’t risk anyone intercepting our communications and wind of this reaching the wrong ears. But you’re here now and it’s time. There’s no easy way to say this, but I need to know you’re all in before I say anymore?” All eyes were undividedly hers. She nodded. “Six days from now, we’re going to steal the De Beers diamond.”

Geillis choked on her drink unbecomingly, Colum only looked gravely back at her. Angus, well Angus was as stoic as usual. No one objected though.

Claire smiled. “Shall we begin?”

***


	11. Chapter 11

## Chapter 11.

 

 “So what do ye need, lass?” Colum asked after Claire had explained everything. A sense of profound relief washed over her.

“Well, first off I’ll need a few of your men to head down to  _Le Meurice_.”

“To watch the hotel?”

“Not exactly. I need them watching the  _people_  watching the hotel. We’re going to need to make a couple of targets. We’ll also need a list of the staff they’ll be vetting for the evening,” Claire said, laying out her papers and drawings on the coffee table as everyone gathered round.

“Why?” Colum asked.

“Rumour has it, the buyers by and large stay the same, they receive the invites, but the representatives they send, change. That way there’s never any familiarity between the buyers and no one knows who buys what at any given time,” Geillis put in. She looked up at Claire. “If we can make at least two, we can get their invites. It’ll be our in.”

“Exactly. And any prudent buyer would send their reps ahead to scout the locations. Make sure everything was in order beforehand. Knowing which of the staff will be working that night too, could be helpful,” Claire said.

“Yes, but why only two? Wouldn’t it makes sense to just mark as many as we can and replace them with our people? And wouldn’t each rep have their own security team?” Colum asked.

Claire shook her head. “While we’re working under the assumption that reps change, we can’t know for sure who knows who. There’s too many variables we don’t have time for to prep for. Two can easily be overlooked and explained away. As for security, the reps are the security. They’re supposedly highly trained mercenaries, each fitted with a briefcase they handcuff themselves to once the buy is complete.”

“Aye, but that’s a fine line right there, no? Ye’d have to look like ye can handle yerselves as well as be unmemorable, no? So as not to draw too much attention to yerselves,” Murtagh said, then looked at Jamie, “And this one isna exactly inconspicuous is he, but looks the part of the grunt mercenary.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at his godfather and threw a crumpled piece of paper he’d been fiddling with, at him. Claire squeezed his knee.

“That’s why it’ll be Geillis and I who’ll be going in,” Claire said. She and Jamie had talked about it the night before as her plan took shape in her mind. He’d vehemently argued, but she’d convinced him in the end - she and Geillis had the most experience in this field than anyone else in the room. “Just by the sheer fact that we are in the room at all, they’d assume we had any number of skills valuable enough to our employers.”

“Small but deadly. And it isn’t a case of being entirely inconspicuous,” Geillis added. “Ye have to be  _juuust_ the right type of conspicuous, darling,” she said, giving Murtagh a coquettish smile.

***

Murtagh, Geillis and Angus went off to their respective rooms to catch a few more hours of sleep, but Colum stayed back to help hash out some of the finer details with Claire and Jamie. He among them had the trickier job at the moment. Using his men discreetly to find and follow marks wasn’t the only task Claire had for him.

“Once Geillis and I get inside, grabbing the diamond’s only the first step. Getting out with it will be just as complicated.”

“Aye, and as much as I understand the need for it to be you lasses in there, we still need eyes on ye,” Colum said, Jamie agreeing.

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” Claire replied. She’d discussed it at length with Jamie about finding a way to communicate with those outside, and try as they might, there just didn’t seem to be a way. They stood over the rough floor plans of the hotel, the  _Salon Jeu de Paume_ had large floor-to-ceiling doors that opened out into a small back garden that from the little scouting Jamie had done earlier, couldn’t be watched from a distance given the high hedgerows blocking the view into the room. The other options they had were the discreet staff entrances in the adjoining rooms. Getting in or out from there would require insider knowledge of the staff routes.

“Even if we manage to get eyes on the room, communication with the outside is still going to be impossible,” Colum said.

“Nah, not impossible, I don’t think,” Jamie said thoughtfully. “If we can get someone in, I think I have a way to communicate.”

“Why haven’t you said anything before?” Claire asked, surprised.

“I wasna sure, but perhaps… If we can get a hold of a couple pairs of push-to-talk radios… Aye, I think it can be done.”

“But wouldn’t using those draw attention from the noise?” Claire said.

“There’s an old stealth trick we used to use in the army if we had to get in and out of enemy territory quietly. You dinna talk into the walkie, you just press the PTT’s button. It makes a quiet static noise, if ye kent the code, ye used it like a telegraph wire.”

“Jamie… That’s genius,” Claire said in awe.

“Och! It’s not so much as all that besides what ye’ve planned, Sassenach,” he said, his ears turning pink.

“And working out a simple code between our team shouldn’t be too hard, either. Aye, lad, I think you’ve worked out another piece of the puzzle,” Colum said, clapping Jamie on the shoulder.

“Can Geillis or me smuggle one in with us?”

“I dinna think so. They aren’t exactly unnoticeable,” Jamie said.

“And we can’t risk sending Murtagh back in. Someone may remember him from when he made contact with the maid, he’s probably just as conspicuous as you with all that facial hair of his,” she said to Jamie.

“I may just have a man we can use,” Colum said, lost in thought.  

“Ok, so if we can get someone in secretly, with one of the walkies, that’ll make the next bit a lot less complicated,” Claire said. She’d had the idea, but hadn’t figured out the timing of it all yet. Without knowing where they were inside, the men on the outside would’ve had to hope Claire and Geillis were in position at the allotted time. And if they weren’t, it’d leave Claire and Geillis literally blind. But if they could signal the men from within when they got into position, it gave them the advantage they’d so desperately need.

“And what bit’s that, lass?”

Claire smiled broadly.  _Fuck, this might actually work._

***

They sat in bed that evening, Claire’s back nestled into Jamie’s chest, his arms comfortably around her, listening to the urban cacophony of car horns, laughter and music, bustling all around them. The Parisian night coming to life.

“Would ye like to go out for dinner maybe?” Jamie asked against her neck.

“No,” Claire replied, her body melting further into his. “I’d rather just stay right here, with you. Maybe go to bed early.”

“To bed… Or to sleep?” He said and she could feel his cheeky smile behind her ear, and smiled herself.

“Well, so long as it doesn’t require leaving this bed,” she replied, running her hand along his leg.

“I canna guarantee that, I’m afraid,” he said, nuzzling her neck. They laughed lightly, then went silent for a while, the sounds from outside filling the room once more.

“Claire?”

“Hmmm?’

“What happens after all of this? With us, I mean?” he asked quietly.

Claire shifted a little so she could look at him, stroking his cheek. “Would it be wrong to say I haven’t let myself think about it?” He shook his head. “I’m scared to. I’m just so scared, Jamie, to think of all the things that could go wrong in a few days. I’m scared to think of Frank not holding up his end of the deal, I’m scared you’ll realize you’ve made a mistake in staying,” she felt his arms tighten around her, “but most of all, I’m just scared to  _hope_. To hope that we’ll get out of this unscathed and finally be happy with nothing being held over our heads. To hope for a life with you. I can’t let myself think that far ahead, not with so many variables still in our way.”

“ _Ghraidh_ … but don’t you see? The only way we’ll succeed in any of this, is if we do hope. If we have something to fight towards. I know it feels like you have to tackle each barrier as they come, but if you don’t give yourself room to hope for happiness as you do…” he put his hand over her heart, “I never dreamed I’d meet someone like you and if there’s one thing I have absolute faith in, is that no matter what happens, this - us - will  _never_ be a mistake. Let yourself hope, Claire, and know whatever life awaits after all of this, I pray it’ll be  _ours_.”

***


	12. Chapter 12

## Chapter 12.

 

 The next few days went by in a flurry of preparation and planning. Claire couldn’t quite believe how much they’d managed to achieve in such a short space of time. Like a well oiled machine, they’d gotten the cars and equipment they’d need, mapped out several potential exits routes, and most importantly, had marked a few potential buyer representatives and gotten the list of staff that were being vetted.

“The lads are following the reps now. We’ll have where they’re staying by end of day,” Colum was saying to the group at large. “The staff is far more easier to infiltrate. And we know from when they’re meant to be on shift, that the event’s going to be on Friday, at eight in the evening. I have the perfect lad we could use. Willie. Quick with his hands - quickest I’ve ever seen. He’s also good at going about unnoticed.”

“One of the waiter’s that’s passed inspection already is of roughly the same height and build as Willie and with a bit of observation, he’ll be able to mirror the waiter enough to pass. The security won’t look twice at him now that the waiter’s been approved,” Angus put in from where he stood by Colum’s shoulder. Always the vigilant bodyguard. “But, Willie is a soft lad, Colum. And this is by far a long way from pickpocketing in the back streets of London.”

“Aye, but the lad has a sharp mind and can think on his feet. Should anything happen to the lasses inside, Willie willna leave them stranded. And we need someone inside who can go unnoticed,” Colum finished, looking at Claire for approval.

“Alright, we’ll need to meet him, have a quick demonstration of his abilities - tonight - then start the process of how, when and where we’ll quietly replace the waiter,” Claire said. The closer they got to the day, the more restless she became and now walked about the room, arms crossed, trying to think of every contingency she could.

“Aren’t we just going to kill him like the reps?” Angus asked.

“No!” Claire exclaimed, coming to a stop and giving him a sharp look. “No one is getting killed, Angus. There are other ways to get them out of the way. Colum, I’ll need you to tell your men, there’ll be no killing on this job.” Colum looked between her and Angus, clearly under the same assumption as Angus, but relented. He nodded.

“No killing.” He said.

“Good. Now-”

“But if we aren’t killing them, then how  _are_ we getting them out of the way?” Colum asked.

“Sleeping draught,” Jamie said, giving Claire a mischievous smile, “Works like a bloody charm.” Claire grinned back.

“Not exactly a draught this time though. We need something that’ll work near instantly. For that, it’ll need to be injected, not drunk,” Claire said.

“And just where are we going to find such a thing?” Angus asked.

“I make them,” Claire replied. “It’ll be stronger than the average dose. Keep them knocked out for a good long while.”

“Murtagh and I can handle that,” Jamie put in.

“We’ll have to intercept them at their hotel rooms. The waiter at his flat. Get the invites and briefcases and stash away the bodies. It’s imperative that gets done quick and quietly.” She reached into the box she’d gotten herself from Raymond and pulled out three vials and three large rings. She flipped the jewel aside neatly and exposed a sharp needle within that popped out slightly at the jewel’s released. “These,” she said, further exposing yet another hidden compartment below the needle, “Are how we’ll do it. With a concentrated dose of the sleeping shot, one swift prick from this should knock them out instantly.” She pulled Jamie to stand beside her, put a ring on, turned the jeweled bit inside her palm, and gave them a quick, no-nonsense tutorial of how and where to efficiently jab and incapacitate their targets. “Do you think Willie can handle this?” Claire asked Colum when she was done. Everyone, save Geillis, was looking back at her with an amusing mixture of fear and awe.

“Aye, I’m sure he will. The lad’s a quick learner,” he said, sounding a little bewildered.

“Excellent! Have him come see Geillis and me later this evening,” she said.

“I can send him to you now, if ye’d like?” He made to stand, but Claire held up her hand.

“Tonight’s just fine. Geillis and I have some things to take care of first,” Claire said, grabbing her purse.

“Why don’t you lads go have a few drinks, we won’t be long,” Geillis added, prowling out behind Claire.

***

They walked around the cramped boutique, the latest bawdy French fashions almost as distastefully opulent as their price tags. Claire having to constantly remind Geillis every other dress to stay on mission.

“But they’re so  _pretty_ ,” Geillis preened, as people brushed by, some bumping into them.

“Formal but practical, Geillis. Things we can easily modify ourselves. We’ll shop for the pretty another time,” Claire said, sounding like a head matron even to her own ears. Geillis pouted and pawed at an unnecessarily expensive pin up dress and let out a longing sigh before moving on. Claire having already picked out a few possibilities, followed Geillis around patiently, there wasn’t any rush to get back, not yet anyway.

After an hour and a half, they made their way back to their hotel - dress covers slung over their shoulders and little brown bags full of accessories - satisfied with the purchases they’d made, Geillis making sure she didn’t leave without some pretty for herself, “ _who knows when I’ll be in Paris again!”_. 

As they walked back into Claire’s room, they found not the men they’d left there, but a slightly built, bored looking, young man, no taller than Claire, walking about the room, picking things up and putting them down. He immediately stopped and straightened up as the door opened. They both immediately froze.

“Mistress,” he said, cheerfully, bobbing his head at them.

“Who are you and how the bloody hell did you get in here?” Claire asked, still standing in the open doorway.

“Willie, Mistress. Mr. Colum said ye’d sent for me,” he replied. His voice was soft and nonthreatening. The two women edged further into the room. “He also said ye required a demonstration,” he said moving towards them swiftly. “I believe these belong to ye.” He took out a watch and a makeup compact and handed them to Geillis, then to Claire an earring and a pair of lace gloves she’d just purchased. Claire’s hand flew to her ears and sure enough, one was missing.

“How did you-” the two women said in unison. He shrugged, self deprecatingly.

“I’ve been following ye since ye left the hotel. I thought for sure ye’d made me in the boutique, but I guess not,” he said with a shy smile.

Claire and Geillis exchanged a look of amazed incredulity.

“Do you speak French?” Claire asked.

“ _Bien assez_ ,” he replied.

“Think you can slip something into the hotel for us?” Geillis said.

He nodded. “Aye, shouldn’t be a problem.”

Claire smiled broadly. “Then let’s get started, shall we.”

But as she moved past him into the room, a sheepish look came over the young man and he twirled something in his palm - her wallet.

“Why you little… When did you-” she said with an astonished laugh.

“Just now,” he replied, handing it back to her. She hadn’t felt a thing. “You really should pay attention to the weight of the things you carry,” he admonished bashfully, going as red a tomato under Claire’s glare.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Geillis said, finally closing the door behind her and looking at Willie like a fox spotting a bit of juicy prey.

***

The day of the auction dawned like any other. But for Claire and her crew it had been a largely sleepless night. She lay, her head resting on Jamie’s chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“You nervous?” He asked quietly.

“Terrified,” she said with a chuckle. “You?”

“Terrified,” he answered, kissing the top of her head. “But I have faith we’ll see it through.”

“How does your faith never waver? You’re going to have to teach me how you do that,” she said, her fingers beginning a idle path along his torso.

“I have faith in  _you_ , Sassenach, and what you’ve designed here.”

She propped herself up onto her elbow so she could look at him. His hair a tousled mess of beautiful curls, but his eyes were fresh and alert. “Do you really believe it will work?” She asked, searching his face for doubt. There wasn’t any.

“I have to believe it will. For us.”

***

They all watched the radio as it sat silent on the coffee table.

“He should be at the apartment by now,” said Murtagh from the sofa.

“Give him a little time,” said Colum from where he sat beside him.

“We dinna have time,” Jamie put in from across them.

They didn’t. Not really. But even though they’d tried planning their steps to go down like clockwork, Claire knew with an unpredictable job like this, there’d have to be a certain amount of room left for improvisation. She just wished that unpredictability hadn’t started with step one.

“He’ll get it done,” she said with a confidence she didn’t altogether feel, as she paced behind the sofa, her eyes never leaving the radio.

“We should have sent someone with him,” Angus said as he hulked by Colum’s shoulder.

“He’ll get it done,” Claire said again.  _Come on, Willie_ , she thought, and chanced a look at Geillis, who’d been silently gnawing at her thumb nail.

Then, there it was. The quick, crisp static burst from the radio they’d been waiting for and Claire could feel the breath of relief pulse through the room at the sound. There was no turning back now.

***

Claire and Geillis looked each other over critically. They both needed to have distinct, yet subtle looks. Too much and they’d draw too much attention to themselves, too little and they wouldn’t have just the right distracting features to misdirect any wandering eyes. This was Geillis’ forte, and why Claire had needed her - and her bag full of tricks.

Claire stood in her form hugging, calf length burgundy gown, with its self-tie neck mesh detailing revealing a tiny peek-a-boo gap just above her bust, that also extended into elbow length meshed bishop sleeves and her burgundy lipstick a shade short of being shocking, complimented her blonde wig, parted down the side and left open to frame her face.

Geillis, opting for a light brown wig she had done half up, half down with victory rolls, went with a black lace gown with a sweetheart neckline, that came down just shy of her knees. Cinched delicately at the waist with a jeweled belt and matching gloves.

Each dress they’d modified slightly, giving them more mobility and looseness than the dresses themselves appeared to have. They’d managed to sew small pockets in strategic areas, undetectable to the naked eye. And the low heels they wore gave them surprising speed. On the outside, they looked ever the part of exclusive auction attendees, underneath though, there was far more than met the eye.

“Can you tell I’ve got it on me?” Claire asked, adjusting her peek-a-boo gap.

“Not even if I had my nose lodged in your cleavage,” Geillis answered.

Just then there was a light knock on the door and Jamie tentatively popped his head in. “You ready?” He asked and just as his eyes found Claire, he froze, eyebrows rising to near his hairline. “You look…”

Geillis, whose back was to the door turned and said, “Unrecognizable, I hope!”

“Ye look different, right enough. Ye both do,” he said slipping into the room. “Colum and his group just left, they’ll signal when they’re in position. If yer ready,” he said to Geillis, “Murtagh is waiting in the car for ye.”

She nodded and turned to Claire. “I guess this is it. Good luck, my friend,” she said with more affection than Claire had heard her use in anyone’s presence other than her own.

“You too,” she said, just as emotionally.

“Don’t get soft on me now, Beauchamp,” Geillis said, grabbing her things and headed for the door. “We’ll hug it out when we get this done.” She nodded at Jamie and left.

Jamie looked Claire over slowly, he felt his body stir.  _Damn woman_ , he thought,  _she’d gi’ me a bloody cockstand with the blink of a bloody eye._ He snorted.

“What?” Claire said incredulous.

“It’s just… I dinna think I’d ever get used to seeing ye so. Though, I like more ye as ye are and not so done up like this, truth be told,” he said putting his hands on her hips.

“You liked me just fine the night we met, as I recall,” Claire replied primly.

“Aye, but ye werena made up so much as all this,” he said, swaying her from side to side gently. She batted his hands away, and turned to get her coat. “Ye sure this is a good idea? Ye and Geillis coming along as we knock the reps out to get the things we need?”

“It would take too much time to keep going back and forth. Besides we will be in the cars, waiting,” she turned back to him, draping her coat over her arm. “It’ll be fine. I believe in you. And Murtagh. Isn’t that what you keep telling me? To have faith?”

He shook his head smiling. “Of all the bloody times to pull that one out,” he mumbled, heading for the door.

“Just before Angus headed out, I saw you pull him aside. Why?” Claire asked. She’d found it odd seeing their quiet exchange before he’d left the room. Jamie and Angus didn’t normally speak alone. Whatever it had been about though, Jamie let none of it show on his face.

“It was nothing. Just confirming our rendezvous point for later, is all,” he brushed it off, opening the door for her. And so did she. She hadn’t the time to worry about it if Jamie didn’t think it important to mention. There was already enough going on.

***

Claire waited an agonizing ten minutes for Jamie while he disabled the rep. She had just started to feel the urge to go check on him when he came swiftly round the corner, slim, black briefcase in hand.

“The briefcase needs a wee key to open,” he said as he got into the driver’s seat. He could see she’d been worrying. “It took me some time to find it on him. I only hope Murtagh thinks to do the same!”

“Did he see your face?”

“Nah! I wore the hood Geillis gave me,” he replied, handing her the briefcase with its little key and the invite. “Has Murtagh signaled?” She shook her head. He reached under his seat, pulled out one of the four radios they’d managed to get for the team, and sent out three short bursts. Then waited. Three long minutes later, two static bursts crackled their radio to life. “ _Taing Dhia_!” Jamie breathed, and they peeled away towards  _Le Meurice_.

“Don’t think you were ever built for a life like this, love. As great as you could be at it,” Claire teased, seeing Jamie’s anxiety rise as they wove through the evening traffic. He snorted.

“Aye, well, I wouldna be surprised if we have a full head of white hair after all we’re about to go through tonight!” he said, making her laugh.

They finally pulled up to  _Le Meurice_  in time to see Murtagh helping Geillis out of their car. They were a few cars behind them in the queue and spotted some of the other representatives they’d made earlier, arriving. Claire reached her hand over and took Jamie’s, squeezing it reassuringly. She could see the urge in his eyes to lean over and kiss her, but saw the restraint as well. There were far too many eyes around them. A sharp blast from the car horn behind them jerked them back on task.

As Claire got ready to get out, she paused and turned to Jamie one last time and said, “Whatever happens, I’ll see you on the other side of this. Trust in that.”

He nodded. It was he could do as he watched her walk into the hotel, alone.

***


	13. Chapter 13

## Chapter 13.

 

 Claire walked into the hotel  _Le Meurice_  with a swagger she didn’t altogether feel, Geillis a short distance ahead. She forced herself not to rush, to walk with deliberate slowness, and she could see Geillis doing the same, marking those few with briefcases like theirs who had just arrived. They needed to remain cool and calm.

So absorbed was she in keeping her composure, she hadn’t noticed the young man walking towards her till he was not but a few metres from her. In the same moment it took her to realize the young man was Willie, he’d already drawn level with her, and without breaking stride, without even glancing at her, he palmed a small rectangular keychain into her hand, which she swiftly slipped into her coat pocket in the same motion. He’d done it so quickly, so discreetly, Claire was amazed it’d actually even happened.  

They finally got to the  _Salon Jeu de Paume,_  whose entrance was flanked by two security guards that would’ve given Angus a run for his money. Each representative had to hand over their invites, which were in and of themselves, simply designed; a small rectangle piece of black paper with nothing but a short sequence of numbers written in the middle of it, in a black enclosure, embossed with the De Beers. Each invite was crossed referenced with a list the guards had. Then, to Claire’s surprise, were set alight.  _Flash paper_ , Claire thought watching the invites burn out without a trace.  _Brilliant_.

Inside the salon was as sparsely bedecked as Claire imagined it would be. A single long table along the wall held an assortment of o’dourves that no one seemed interested in, chairs had been neatly spaced out and lined to face forward, where a small dais had been set up. There was not one hotel staff members in the room. And there it was, flanked by another two guards and a crusty looking old man holding a stack bidding paddles. Sitting upon a simplistic, three prong metallic stand, custom made to fit its contours, was the De Beers.

Once everyone was inside - Claire had counted roughly 45 people - and the double doors were shut, the crusty old man stepped forward, tapping his nail demurely against the paddles to get everyone’s attention - all eyes had been unwaveringly on the diamond. “Ladies and gentlemen, please. Thank you all for coming tonight. Before we begin, you will each be given the opportunity to examine the piece. Once all are satisfied, the auction shall begin.” His voice was clipped and gravelly, but it clearly carried through the room. A seasoned auctioneer. “But first, I will require seeing your proof of payments,” he extended a hand to a small table by the wall to his left, “If you please.”

For a moment, nobody moved. Claire’s eyes shot to Geillis, who’s eyes sparked with the same fear as Claire’s. One man stepped forward then, and placed his briefcase on the table, unlocking it. His back was to the rest of the room, but whatever the auctioneer saw inside was satisfying enough, that he waved the man towards the diamond.

 _How could I have been so stupid!_  Claire admonished herself.  _How could I not check the contents of the briefcase!_

One by one, the representatives made their way to the tiny table. Some took longer than others at the dais - unable to touch the diamond, most took out loupes to try and examine it as closely as they could. Claire and Geillis loitered, watching, scanning, thinking. From where they stood, they couldn’t see any trace of Willie yet. They had no choice. To refuse would blow their cover. There was only the one option. Let it play out.

Claire stepped forward. Two thirds of the representatives had already had their briefcases examined. Those that had examined the diamond had flitted off to the o’dourves table. Geillis fell into step behind her. “Key,” Claire felt Geillis breathe. She gave an infinitesimal nod in answer. Claire chanced a peek over the man in front of her as he opened his case, but all she could discern was the sound of a small click before he turned the case around to show the auctioneer its contents.

Claire pulled the tiny key out of her pocket and gripped it tight so as not to show how it shook in her hand. She stepped up to the table, her heart pounding so hard, she was surprised the old man couldn’t hear it. She placed her case on the table and managed to slip the shaky key into its slot in one go and unlocked the case. Within was a soft black foam, that had a pair of handcuffs in one perfectly shaped indentation and an empty indentation she assumed was for the diamond. And nothing else. She swallowed and discreetly ran her hands along the edge of the foam, hoping perhaps there was something beneath it, when her finger felt a tiny raised button in the bottom right corner. She clicked it and the foam rose slightly. She pushed it further up and her breath caught in her throat.

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

Bearer bonds. A stack of millions worth of untraceable bearer bonds. She clamped down hard on her urge to laugh and angled herself slightly to let Geillis - who did let out a disbelieving snort - see inside, as she turned the case to the old man. They hadn’t once thought about it. How the reps were going to pay for the diamond. In all their planning and prepping and discussions, it had not come up even once. And here they’d been holding millions without even knowing it. The old man gave the case a meticulous look over then snapped it shut, waving Claire along towards the diamond.

Claire moved towards the dais slowly, using the throng of people still ahead of her as an excuse to wait for Geillis. Geillis, now having more confidence in what the case contained, flipped it open with a bit more flourish than necessary. With everything checking out alright, Geillis came level with Claire and whispered, “Think my heart stopped a full minute there.”

They had to be careful. The other reps were largely ignoring each other. To be seen talking too long would draw too much attention. “How did we all miss that?” Claire said disbelief.

“I don’t know but we have millions at our fingertips. Why not just bid for the diamond?” Geillis asked.

“Because we can’t know for sure how much the other reps have. We can’t risk getting outbid,” Claire said, as the line to the diamond moved slowly along. “We stick to the plan. Where the hell is Willie?” They scanned the room for any signs of false walls that could lead to adjacent rooms. They couldn’t move forward with the next step without him.

***

Jamie had quickly met up with Colum and a few of his men where they’d taken position a block down the street from  _Le Meurice_. Murtagh having arrived a couple of minutes before. From this vantage point they could see the entrance, but were far enough away that they could go unnoticed. Jamie sought out Colum immediately, but the look on the old man’s face told him all he needed to know. No signal yet. And that, Jamie knew, was what was going to completely do him in - the waiting. He could already feel that excruciating helplessness rising within him. He turned to Angus.

“Did you get it done?” he asked, sharper than he intended.

“Aye,” Angus replied, not all that bothered with Jamie’s tone. He jerked his head forward, “I parked it on the street opposite the entrance. Given the short notice, I think I managed to get enough for what ye were thinking.”

“What’s this then?” Colum said, looking between the two men.

“A distraction,” Jamie said simply.

“Does Claire know about this?”

“No, but I wasna going to just let her walk in there without a way out. And I ken what yer going to say, she has a plan, aye, but there isna any harm in having a backup,” Jamie said, not meeting his eye.

Colum considered him for a moment, then said, “Aye, on yer head be it. Isna my arse she’ll scalp.”

Jamie snorted. “It’s a scalping I’m willing to take if it gets her out of there safely.”

***

He’d done everything right. He’d gotten in without a problem, avoided any attention. The bracelet he’d pinched from the waiter for the vetted staff got him in anywhere and with the least amount of questions. Now he stood at the locked service door, cursing himself for wasting time getting turned around in the kitchen after slipping Claire the key. He could easily unlock it, the only problem was he couldn’t hear if there was anyone in the adjoining room. Had they thought to put guards in there or left it empty having locked it? He’d risk exposing them all if caught, but he couldn’t just keep standing there when they needed him. He could feel the weight of the radio in his waist apron, the perspiration starting to coat his palms. He glanced at his watch.

 _Ye need to move!_  he chided to himself, gathering the courage to take that unknown step. He pulled out the paper clip he never went anywhere without and picked the lock. It quietly clicked open and Willie edged the door open a fraction.

He smiled. The room was empty.

***

Claire let Geillis go ahead of her hoping that by the time she took her turn at the dais, Willie would be in position. But the group waiting to examine the De Beers had already begun thinning significant and she couldn’t risk going last. She needed to be in the shuffle of people remaining. She took a step for the dais, sending up a prayer. Just then, Geillis turned from the diamond, a broad smile on her face. To everyone but Claire, that smile was delight at seeing such a rare piece, to Claire though - who’d followed Geillis fractional head jerk towards her left as she turned - that smile was pure relief. There, by a fake wall that led to the hidden adjoining room, was a sliver of a gap with an eye barely visible.  _Willie. Thank Christ!_

With purpose, Claire made her way to the dais. Everything they’d worked for came down to this moment, to her. She finally stood in front of the De Beers and it took her breath away. All the stories surrounding it had never done it proper justice. It was simply majestic. Claire’s fingers itched, but she had to wait for her moment. Her eyes found Willie’s, his head bobbed and a moment later, the lights flickered and went out, plunging them all into darkness.

“ _After we cut the power, ye’ll have between thirty seconds to a minute before the hotel’s generators kick in_ ,” Colum had told her. Thirty seconds to a minute to get Raymond’s forgery out from the hidden pocket she’d sewn in the dress, between her breasts and switch it with the real De Beers - while completely blind. To her utter horror, the snapping of lighters began sounding around the room, flashes of light sporadically bursting on and off around her.  _God damn bloody smokers!_  She had mere seconds to switch them before the room was illuminated. Her heart thundered erratically.

As if in response, Claire’s body went into an instinctive calm - a feeling she’d only really experienced as a nurse. Her senses at once sharpened, the adrenaline that threatened to make her hands wobble uncontrollably, steadied her instead, and everything around her suddenly slowed down. Her movements like disjointed snapshots between flashes. She knew beyond any doubt as her hands moved swiftly, deftly swapping the pieces in one assured and fluid motion, that she’d done it without anyone catching one glimpse of the exchange - everyone too preoccupied with getting their lighters lit. She took a step away from the dais just as one by one, lighters snapped and finally stayed on.

The guards and auctioneer were near frantic trying to close ranks around the diamond. Confused, agitated voices sounded from every direction, as Claire found Geillis a few feet behind her and began moving towards the double doors, just as the generators hummed to life.

“ _To see it from afar_ ,” Raymond had warned her, “ _the forgery would fool anyone. But to see it closely enough with a trained eye and the rouse will be over. Be quick, Madonna. It will only buy you a little time._ ”

It was all Claire needed. They’d gotten half way across the room when two things happened simultaneously; the fire alarm went off - courtesy of Willie - and the auctioneer let out an indignant, shocked cry. But as he called for no one to move, the hotel’s security forced the double doors open and ordered everyone to evacuate. As Claire had anticipated though, the auctioneer ordered some of his men to the entrance to intercept any reps that tried to get away without being checked. So as the throng of guests moved towards the hotel’s exit, Claire and Geillis slipped out into the melee and went the opposite direction and towards the stairs.

They’d managed to get to them unseen and Claire pulled out the key Willie had given her -  _23_. “Room 23. That’s where he stashed the bag,” Claire told Geillis, breathlessly. They both yanked off their wigs as they weaved through the confused guests making their way out, and entered the room. The bag sat undisturbed on the bed. Without speaking, Geillis unzipped the bulging bag, throwing in her wig and Claire’s, pulling out things with a near frantic rush. They undressed quickly, wiped off their lipstick, Claire ripping off the hair mesh she wore and fluffed out her messy curls as best she could, while Geillis put on another wig - a short, black as night, fringed bob - then pulled out what was causing the bag to bulge. “You have honestly got to be joking,” Claire said, thoroughly amused, she still couldn’t believe Geillis even had such a thing.

“It works like a charm every single time,” Geillis replied, wickedly.

***

 _Pandemonium_. That was the only word for it, Jamie thought, as the sidewalk flooded with people, the fire alarm cutting through the night air. Jamie knew this would happen. Knew the entrance would get ridiculously congested, making it near impossible for them to move swiftly once Claire and Geillis got out. They needed to make room. They needed to get everyone to scatter.  _God help me_ , he thought.

“Do it,” he said to Angus, who was looking uncertain. “Do it now before anyone gets close to it!”

Angus pulled out a trigger.

“Christ almighty,” Colum breathed.

Angus pushed the button and the night was illuminated with an almighty and deafening explosion that shook the ground the stood on and left a five story high plume of smoke over what was once a tiny fiat. They all watched the smoldering wreckage in complete disbelief, as those who were knocked over by the force of the blast picked themselves up.

“ _Feck_  me,” Angus said stunned.

Jamie turned to him his face red with fury. “You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!” he roared over the screaming hysterics around them.

Angus shrugged helplessly, “It worked, no?” he said pointing at the thinning crowd as people ran in the opposite direction of the blast.

If it was pandemonium before, Jamie had just managed to make a right mess of things, creating complete bedlam. He turned to Colum and said, “We haven’t much time. You know what to do. Murtagh and I will get the lasses. See you on the other side.” They clasped hands for a moment before they made for their cars.

***

The blast shook the stairwell and made the lights flicker. Claire and Geillis paused mid-step. They looked at each other as the faint sounds of screaming reached them.

“What in hell was that?” Geillis said, her shock Claire knew, matched her own. Before Claire had a chance to even think of a response, a wave of guests descending forced them to start moving again.

They got to the lobby - mixing into the crowd as they did - and saw the cloud of smoke outside, two cars coming to a screeching halt in front of the hotel, and the wretched guards at the entrance. Just then, Geillis let out a deep, guttural “ _Mon Dieu_!” and began dramatically howling, clutching at her belly in agony.

At first Jamie couldn’t spot them in the mass of people, then his attention was drawn to a heavily pregnant woman with short black hair, who seemed to have gone into labor and he cursed himself at probably being the cause of her distress, but as she got closer, Jamie realized it wasn’t just any woman, especially as soon as Willie grabbed her elbow and helped steer her out of the hotel.  _Geillis!_  he thought watching the spectacle unfold. From the harried look on Willie’s face, Jamie thought the lad made Geillis’ performance all the more believable.

Claire followed right behind, dressed in simple pants and a sweater, her hair wild around her now bespectacled face, a bag flung over her shoulder. In the middle of the chaotic melee he couldn’t help but think she looked absolutely beautiful, if he was being honest. Without breaking stride she made straight for him once she cleared the entrance, Geillis and Willie making for the car Murtagh was waiting in behind him.

“Did ye get it?” he asked anxiously as she slipped in and threw the bag in the back seat with a heavy thump. Murtagh sped past them without so much a backward glance.

“Did I get it, he asks,” she said with a laugh and discreetly pulled the De Beers half out from a small, dark blue, velvet drawstring pouch she’d tucked away in her sweater pocket. It nestled comfortably in her palm. “Now drive!”

She didn’t need to tell him twice. With tires screeching, he peeled out of there just as a plethora of wailing police cars, firetrucks and ambulances came to a halt at the spot they’d just vacated.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Beauchamp's 7 pull off the impossible and JAMMF channels his inner Charlie Croker!


	14. Chapter 14

## Chapter 14.

 

 It had been decided once they’d made their getaway from  _Le Meurice_ , they’d all scatter. None were to go back to the hotel they’d been staying at and none would be staying in Paris that night. Colum and Angus made for Reims to lay low for a couple of days before heading to Calais (his men fading into the French night as they’d come - undetected). Murtagh, Geillis and Willie headed to Le Havre to do the same. Claire and Jamie though, went straight to Calais to catch the first ferry out.

Claire told him everything that happened inside the hotel during their long drive up, “I can’t even tell you what it was like watching Geillis putting on that fake baby bump! But she was right, apart from Willie, most men avoided looking at her the more she wailed. So much for chivalry!” Claire said through barely contained laughter.

Stopping occasionally to refuel and grab a bite to eat, Jamie in turn told her about all that’d happened outside, the explosion in particular, “I had a feeling after the alarm, people would bottleneck at the entrance, blocking you in. So I figured we could use a small -  _small_ \- distraction, to thin out the crowd. How was I to know Angus is a right knob and would blow the poor wee fiat sky bloody high?!” Claire laughed till her sides hurt. It was more from a pure release of tension than anything else. It felt like a lifetime since she’d let herself be so carefree - when in truth she’d felt this way when with Jamie all along. She rolled down her window, made Jamie do the same, and as the chilly night air rushed into the car, she let out an elated, deep bellied whoop.

“What are you doing?” Jamie asked, himself unable to keep his laughter at bay.

“We just pulled off a once in a lifetime job, we deserve to blow off some celebratory steam,” she said, whooping again on the top of her lungs, then nudged his arm, encouraging him to do the same. He shook his head, smiling, then tipped his head back and howled like he’d never howled before into the night.

***

They got to the little beach-side chalet Claire had booked in advance just after midnight. The sound of lapping waves and the brine scented air wafted through the doors Jamie had thrown open that lead to the beach. Claire was still fizzing with energy, practically drunk on the adrenaline coursing through her. Even Jamie had to admit was still feeling the effects of their night’s adventures.

“I still can’t believe it,” Claire said, as she pulled the drawstring pouch she’d fashioned a necklace out of during the drive, from around her neck and took out the diamond once more. She held it reverently, turning it to catch the dim moonlight. She slipped it back into the pouch with a sigh and placed it in one of the briefcases she’d stuffed in the bag she’d carried out from the hotel. Jamie, taking the bag from her, put it with their other suitcases down beside the bed and without a word took Claire in his arms, kissing her as deeply as he could. Claire’s body melting into him at once.

“Hmmm,” he hummed against her lips, “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.” He kissed her again, his hands worming their way beneath her sweater and to his delight, she wasn’t wearing a bra. 

She walked backwards, roughly pulling him with her so they didn’t break contact, till her back slammed into a wall. She let out a breathless “Oof!” and Jamie immediately pulled away apologizing, but she grabbed onto his shoulders, pulling him back to her. All her pent up energy, all her fear and anxieties rushed out of her. She shook in his arms with a relief that the future she’d quietly let herself envision deep inside her was finally within her grasp. She dug her fingers into Jamie’s back and shoulders, feeling his hands roughly roam her body, his own body reverberating with a powerful need she knew he’d also been holding at bay.

Claire hooked her leg over his hip, bringing him even closer. She moaned as she felt his nails drag down her back - then hook under her hips and squeeze - and ground her hips against his, excruciatingly slowly. Every bit of restraint left them and all they were left with was a raw, primal need. A need so urgent it threatened to undo them where they stood. A need neither was at all inclined to temper. Not now. Not ever again. Jamie smiled against her as she bit his bottom lip and scooped his shirt over his head, then ran her nails hard down his chest and abdomen, making him grunt and pick her up bodily. He moved towards the bed, kissing her hard enough to bruise.

He sat her on the edge of the bed and began undoing his trousers, his cockstand almost painfully constricted. Claire pulled him between her legs and kissed his taut torso, her tongue following the red marks her nails had made on his skin.

“ _A Dhia_ ,” he groaned.

She tried bringing him to her, but he put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her, his eyes locking with hers. Very slowly he pushed her back onto the bed, undid her trousers and slid them off, then knelt before her hooking her legs over his shoulders. Claire’s skin erupted with a million starbursts, a delicious shudder running through her, wave after exquisite wave. Jamie’s grip on her hips, the feel of his tongue, the only tethers she had to consciousness. He felt her body coil, then the judder begin to course through her, a desperate sigh escaping her lips. He nipped his way up her body, his fingers hooking the hem of her sweater pushing it upward, as his tongue found the peak of her breast.

Claire could feel how ready he was. She buried her fingers into the mass of curls at the base of his neck, pressing him firmly to take her deeper into his mouth. “Harder,” she said, barely over a whisper, her breathing becoming shallow. She felt the reverberation of his growl against her in response.

He finally drew his body flush with hers and quickly yanked her sweater off her completely, holding her wrists in his hand firmly above her head as he did so. His other hand caressed her collarbone, shoulder, fingertips brushing past her nipple, then lower down, taking in the shape of her hip and the feel of the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Does it ever stop?” He asked, breathless, his hand making its journey back up to cup her neck. “The wanting you?”

“Do you want it to?” She teased, rocking slowly against him, feeling his aching want roll between them.

He shook his head, smiling, and captured her lips with his. “Nah,” he breathed, guiding himself into her, “never in life, Sassenach.”

He sheathed himself to the hilt, marveling at the way her body reacted to his. How it arced and bucked with his. Her rhythm becoming his own. How she brought him deeper into her, wrapping her legs tightly about his hips. Her gasps and cries filling him. He let go of her wrists then, and wrapped his arms around her body - for a moment he thought his weight would be crushing, but she too held him firmly to her. Claire felt his muscles begin to tremble, his end rocking ever nearer, her own body going taut in response.

“Oh, God,” he shuddered out, “oh, Claire!”

***

They remained joined, in each other’s embrace, the ebb and flow of desire lulling them into a stupor. Jamie half lay on top of her - he’d tried to roll off completely, but she held him there, unwilling to surrender his body.

“Claire?” Jamie said softly, his voice muffled in her neck.

“Hmmm?”

“Where do we go from here?”

“Well, like we agreed earlier, we catch the first ferry out, get the De Beers to Frank and the divorce-”

“No,” Jamie interrupted her, bracing himself on his forearm so he could look at her. “Not that. Fuck Frank and his bloody trinket. And ye ken fine well I didna mean him. What happens to us? I ken ye said you werena ready to think about it, ye werena ready to hope, but Claire, have ye? Let yourself hope for it now?”

“I love how you and Murtagh keep calling one of the most sought after pieces in the world, a trinket.” She smiled and traced the jut of his brow, curve of his cheek, swell of his lips. He kissed her fingertips in response. “I don’t know, Jamie. I don’t know what a life after Frank, after all  _this_ , even looks like yet. All I do know is that I want to be with you. I keep thinking how many more times might I hold you so. To have you like this. But I can’t help but think what would happen if I lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said with utter incredulity that she’d even imagine such a thing. “When you told me the truth, my world was turned on its head. It felt like ye’d ripped my guts right out of me. But as I stood alone in yer living room that night, the last look of ye, hurting and so desolate lingering before me, pained me worse than I could’ve ever imagined anything could. I couldna bare the sight! And as the silence crashed down around me, I realized there was nothing to forgive, because I’d already forgiven everything you’d done and everything you could do, long before that day. I realized there was  _nothing_ in this world that would part me from ye.  _Mo nighean donn_ , I’ve had a question burn inside me ever since we met. I knew for sure the night we had dinner at Colum’s tavern. And knew beyond a doubt I couldn’t bare to lose you the night you told me the truth-”

“-Jamie-”

“-Marry me. We’ll rid ourselves of that bloody  _trinket_ , then go to your flat and get your things, and leave this world behind us once and for all. If you truly wish it, Claire, we’ll live any life you choose - so long as we’re together. Will ye… Will ye have me, Claire?” he asked softly, anxiousness lacing his words, lining every inch of his face.

“Love,” she said tenderly, cupping his face in her hands. “Don’t you know? I have always been yours. I will always be yours.”

“And I you, my Sassenach. Always.”

“Yes, Jamie, I’ll have you,” she said and pulled him to her. He kissed with a relieved fervor, which she gratefully answered in kind. He rolled back on top of her, his weight a blessed comfort. They took their time then, time itself seemingly stopping as they gently explored each other. In those dark, timeless hours, there was no end to her body as it flowed into his, her scent filled his senses till he was light headed with it. A feel of lips, a brush of skin on skin, a swallowed moan, a stolen breath. In those dark, timeless hours, two souls become one.

***

They walked into Frank’s gallery, Claire with a small aluminum briefcase in hand - nothing in it save the De Beers, safely snug in its custom-shaped foam - with Jamie at her side. Frank as usual, sat behind his desk, but instead of making a show of shuffling papers as they entered, he sat back in his chair, watching them smugly, the desk had been completely cleared but for one envelope.

“ _Quite_ the spectacle, my darling,” he said.

Claire felt Jamie stiffen beside her. Seen the taunt in Frank’s eyes as he said it. She could just hear the words forming in Jamie -  _Dinna call her that._  Before he could say it though, Claire moved forward. They weren’t wasting anymore time here than they needed to.

“We haven’t all day, Frank. Let’s finish this, shall we.” she said coolly.

Frank smirked and gestured for her to place the case on his desk as he slid a drawer open and got his loupe out.

Claire put the case on the desk, but made no move to open it. “The papers first, Frank,” she said sharply. He snorted.

“Such little faith,” he said, removing the papers from the envelope beside him. He still hadn’t signed yet. “The diamond.”

Claire and Jamie exchanged a look. After a moment, Claire turned the case towards Frank and flipped the lid open. A predatory gleam flashed across Frank’s face, mixed surprisingly with shock. He reached his hand out, but Jamie pulled the case away a fraction. “Ye dinna get to touch it. Not until ye sign the papers,” Jamie said. He stared Frank down, knowing the latter’s hunger for the piece would quickly overshadow the business they had still to finish.

“You’ll find I’ll have to, Fraser. Can’t expect me to just sign them without properly examining it, surely?” he scoffed.

After a moment, Claire gave Jamie a nod and he let go of the case. “A show of good faith, then,” Claire said.

Frank smiled and leaned forward, taking the De Beers gently in his palm. “You know, when word came back of the audacious antics that took place in Paris, no one was readily willing to admit it had  _actually_ been stolen,” he said placing the loupe on his eye and brought the diamond closer. “I still can’t quite believe you did it, even as I hold it now… She is a masterpiece,” he whispered in complete awe. They watched him dispassionately fondle the diamond for a few minutes, turning it to and fro. When he was satisfied, he placed the diamond back into the case reluctantly and pulled out a fountain pen from his inside coat pocket, but made no move to sign.

“And there was nothing else?” Frank asked.

“Were you expecting more? No, there was nothing else, Frank, but what we agreed upon,” Claire answered.

“Claire,” he said with forced politeness, looking up at her, “do you realize what we’ve pulled off here? What we can build out of this. Claire, darl-” his voice quelled under the look Jamie gave him, “-just think what we-”

“There is no “ _we_ ”, Frank. You did nothing to make this happen. You didn’t do a damn thing, save hand me a blasted envelope. And that is all you are going to do now,” Claire said, snapping the case shut.

Frank’s eyes flickered with anger, then immediately went back to gentle coaxing. “Be reasonable, Claire. This achievement… It’d be a shame to throw it all away, and for what?” He looked at Jamie with distaste. “It would be such a tragedy if it was to come out who was behind one of the biggest heists of the last few years. I’m sure there are a few foaming at the mouth over what happened and would pay a pretty penny to find out who so thoroughly played them.”

Claire laughed outright. “You wouldn’t,” she said with a confidence she hadn’t felt all day, until right at that moment. She looked at Jamie, himself smirking and sat down.

“You seem sure of that,” Frank said, taking his own seat opposite her.

“I am. You wouldn’t expose me, _my darling_ , because to expose me, would be to expose yourself.”

“Not if I say you foolishly went rogue for a  _mark_ ,” he cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You forget one thing, Frank. You always do,” Claire said, glaring at him. “You’ve carved out a pretty little life here. One that’s rather precariously balanced between the respected gallery owner and the meticulous art thief. Upset one and the other’s sure to soon fall as well. Your reputation precedes you. Who in our circles doesn’t know what art thief Randall loves - and covets.  _You_ pick the jobs, remember? Everyone knows that. I too know my fair share of ears to whisper into, if need be. I would be genuinely surprised if your name hadn’t come up already after Paris.” She saw his jaw muscle flare. “And you  _really_  shouldn’t give out envelopes full of intel with your trademark style.”

Shock and fear flashed across his face. It was customary for his crew to burn the envelopes as soon as they’d memorized the intel. But Claire hadn’t. She knew he’d fail to take her not doing so into account. Knew Jamie was right, she couldn’t just count on Frank’s word alone. He’d always taken her for granted, underestimated her, and it was that arrogance that was her key to bringing Frank to heel.

“So,” Claire continued, “I’d think twice before playing that particular gambit, if I were you. You have your trinket, so let’s not make anymore waves than we have to, shall we? Now, if you please, sign the Goddamn papers.”

***

“So, Sassenach, what would you like to do first with your well earned freedom?” Jamie asked hooking his arm around her shoulders as they walked out of Frank’s gallery for the last time.

She wrapped her arm round his waist and pressed herself to him. She thought she’d feel strange, severing that tie to Frank. But all she truly felt was a giddy lightness. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I’d love to get out of London as soon as we may.” Eager to finally start her new journey with Jamie. “But first, we have one last thing to do before we do.”

***

“Here’s to a long life and a merry one!” Colum boomed, “A quick death and an easy one. A pretty girl and an honest one,” he tilted his glass at Geillis and Claire, “A stiff whisky and another one.  _Slainte mhath_!” The tavern erupted in a chorus of salutes in answer. He’d closed the tavern for the afternoon at Claire’s request, save for a few special guests. After everyone had settled down, Colum asked what was everyone’s mind, “Now then lass, as lovely as it is to ye, why is it ye’ve gathered us here?” They all hadn’t seen each other together since that night in Paris.

From her perch by the bar, Claire looked over her motley crew of bandits; Angus and Willie at Colum’s back, Geillis with her heeled feet up on the little table in front of her, Jamie and Murtagh on either side of her. She didn’t even know how to begin to thank them for all they’d done, all they’d risked for her.

“Well, as you all know, this job had quite a lot at stake for me, it wasn’t just any ordinary job either, it put you all in jeopardy, and yet you all showed up anyway. Without question or doubt or even care whether you got paid or not. You all chose to help with nothing in it for you. And for that, you will always have my friendship and my love,” Claire began, looking at each and every one of them, their faces holding nothing but understanding. “But what some of you may not know,” she went on, “Is what Geillis and I found in the briefcases when we were inside the hotel.” Jamie pulled out the two briefcases Claire had made sure were not left behind and flipped them open, placing them at the table Colum was at. “Bearer bonds. An obscene amount. Jamie and I counted it all together and it all came to a grand total of fourteen million pounds.”

Claire could’ve been knocked off her bar stool with the ripple of surprise that went through the room. Geillis sat up properly for the first time.

“I knew the briefcase I had carried a ridiculous amount, but that’s incredible!” She said with awe, peering into the briefcases.

“Yours actually carried eight million alone,” Claire said with a laugh, “you could’ve outbid my six.”

Geillis let out a low whistle. “And Randall didn’t want them? I find that hard to believe,” she said.

“Frank doesn’t know about them, nor will he ever. His bargain with me was solely for the diamond, not anything else we may have acquired along the way. So,” Claire said, a broad smile lighting up her face, “even though there would never be any amount that could properly reflect just how grateful I am to you all, I’d like to share this as a thank you for having my back as you did. An even split: Two million each for the seven of us.” Jamie having already graciously sending Raymond 25% of his share, quietly watched on. “And since you brought a few extra men, Colum, I’m giving you one million from my share for them. Aaand before you start protesting, you old git, I insist! You’ve been there for me more times than I can count, let me please do this for you.”

She came down from her stool then and approached the table the cases sat on and when she was sure Colum wasn’t going to raise any objections, pushed one briefcase to him and said, “For you and your men.” Then wordlessly, pushed the other case to Geillis, who stood up and gave Claire a warm, tight hug.

“Is this it, then?” Geillis asked. “You two just going to ride off into the sunset, leaving us with naught but a briefcase to remember ye by?”

“Not exactly,” Claire replied with a smile. She felt Jamie’s hand on the small of her back. “We have one last thing to ask you all.”

“How’d ye feel about attending a wedding?”

***

Claire was never one to dress ostentatiously. Not when it was her choice. When she was being herself. And her wedding day was no exception. She’d thwarted both Jenny’s and Geillis’ attempts at getting her to wear something more flashy. It was hers and Jamie’s day and there was nothing more she wanted than to truly feel like herself. She looked herself over in the body length mirror; her curls loosely done up, a few brushing down her neck, her form hugging dans le vent ivory chiffon dress was simple, yet elegant, and even Jenny and Geillis had to admit, was perfect.

She wasn’t nervous. Not even anxious, really. She felt a feverish anticipation, standing on the edge of the rest of her life, and couldn’t wait to fall right into it. With Jamie by her side, there was no darkness in the precipice she now faced.

“It’s time, lass,” Jenny said, popping back into the room, a cloak draped over her arm. She gave Claire one more once over and smiled. To Claire’s eternal gratitude, Jenny had not been angry when they told her the truth. Instead, she’d admonished them for thinking she’d not understand - and why they hadn’t included her on their little adventure. ” _I’ll leave it to you, brother, to find love in the most unconventional way,”_ she’d said.

Colum waited for them at the foot of the Lallybroch manor stairs, looking every bit the Highlander in his kilt, tartan wrapped over his shoulder and smiling from ear to ear. “Ye look lovely, lass,” he said by way of greeting, as Claire descended the stairs, Jenny right behind.

“And you, Colum, clean up very nicely,” Claire said, kissing him on the cheek. He lead them to the waiting car, everyone else already at the little kirk a short drive away in Broch Mordha. 

When she’d sat down with Jamie two weeks before and started planning the wedding, of all the decisions they had to make, Colum walking her down the aisle was a no-brainer.

“Are ye nervous, lass?” Colum asked, giving her hand a reassuring rub.

“No,” she said, smiling, “not at all, really. I’m excited and if I could, I’d push this rust bucket you call a car as fast as it could go!”

They pulled up to the quaint little kirk, a flutter of butterflies rushing through Claire’s stomach. The day as beautiful a summer day as it got in Scotland. She hadn’t seen Jamie in three days and her entire body and heart had already started feeling the effects of his absence. And as she went over the kirk’s threshold and saw him for the first time, it felt as if she’d had the wind knocked right out of her.

If Colum was every bit the Highlander, Jamie - Murtagh ever vigilant by his side - was simply the epitome of the Highland warrior. Broad shoulders carried his tartan with a powerful elegance as it wrapped around his body with a familiar ease. His hair too was left open; wild and free. But above everything else though, it was his smile that was to be her undoing. As tears stung her eyes at the sight, Claire was sure she hadn’t ever seen anything as beautiful. When she drew level with him, she realized his eyes too, sparkled with unshed tears.

“You look perfect, Sassenach,” he whispered, wiping away a tear that threatened to fall from the corner of her eye. “ _Uabhasach brèagha_.” She cupped his cheek, her thumb giving it a stroke before dropping down as the priest began the service.

The service itself was small and intimate; Claire’s ragtag team of misfits taking up the bride’s side - they were every bit as much her family as anyone could be. A handful of Jamie’s immediate family taking up his side. No one had questioned them or argued it was too soon when they’d announced the wedding was to take place in a mere two weeks. They wanted nothing more save a simple exchange of vows and those close to them to share in their moment. The priest spoke softly in a mix of English and Gaidhlig for awhile, not much of what he said registered with Claire, not when she had Jamie’s hand in hers, stealing looks of each other when they could.

When it finally came time to exchange vows, they’d shakily done so. Every traditional vow again done in both languages, but they’d both wanted to add their own, and asked to do so once the formal vows had been complete.

“Claire,” Jamie began, facing her, “My Sassenach. What can I say to ye I havena said before? You ken my heart better than anyone ever could. You know how deeply we love and cherish one another. I’ve always felt the truth of ye. I didna always understand it, but I trusted it. So here, now, I stand before God and I have only the one thing I truly need to say. Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God, grant me the strength to always love her well.” He finished, his hands twined tight as a vice with hers.

It took Claire a few moments to clear the lump in her throat. When she did speak, her voice was thick and wobbly with emotion, but to her relief, still strong. “I never intended to fall in love. When we met. In fact, I fought against it,” she said with a laugh, “but I couldn’t deny what I felt for you. It was the most powerful thing I’d ever felt in my life. You stole my very being before I could even let myself prepare for it. Jamie, you  _are_  my heart and the very breath of my body, and nothing will ever part me from you,” she said, tears finally overflowing.

He cupped her face then, the priest’s voice drowned out by the sound of her blood pounding in her ears, seeing the reflection of her raw happiness in his face. She wrapped her hands about his waist as he leaned in and sealed their forever with a kiss.

***


	15. Epilogue

## Epilogue.

 

_1950_

 It had been a year since they’d gotten married. A year a domestic bliss Claire had never expected for herself. Never dreamed for herself. She’d fit into life at Lallybroch seamlessly, Jamie convincing her to open a small clinic in Broch Mordha, that doubled as an apothecary Claire filled with concoctions she made herself at her stillroom in the Manor. Jamie in turn spent his days tending to Lallybroch and all its people with a fondness and integrity Claire found a deep reverence in. His love for his land and those that inhabited it was something Claire knew she’d never tire of seeing.

He often came to her stillroom to watch her work, and she loved having him there, asking questions about this herb or that draught. His company always warm and welcome. One day as he sat on one of her stools picking things up and examining them he suddenly said offhandedly, “As much as I was born for Lallybroch and you, Sassenach, I dinna think this is your calling. Not all of it at least.”

“What makes you say that?” she said, looking up surprised, from chopping her ginger root.

“Yer a healer, right enough, it’s in yer blood, but I feel ye should have the title to go wi’ it,” he looked earnestly at her.

“Become a doctor, you mean?” He nodded. “Jamie… The training alone takes years. It’s extensive and would likely pull me away from home. I honestly don’t think I’m ready to spend that much time away from you. I don’t think now is truly the right time,” she said quietly, going back to her ginger root.

Jamie slowly came up beside her, slipping his arms round her waist. “Claire, I wouldn’t want to spend that time away from ye either. But ye deserve to explore that possibility. And if ever ye decided to do so, you should know I’ll support ye one hundred percent. And we’ll make it work. We willna be parted, not for long.”

She leaned into him, resting her temple against his forehead, savoring his warmth. There had been something she’d wanted to tell him for the past couple of days and had just that morning figured out how to tell him. She wanted more than anything to do it right.

“Jamie, there’s something I need to tell you-”

“Tell me tonight, my Sassenach,” he said kissing her cheek. “I have something to take care of in Broch Mordha today. I willna be long.” And before she could stop him, he bustled out of the stillroom.

That night, as Claire got ready for bed, Jamie came into their bedroom, breathless and somewhat giddy. Unlike Claire had ever seen him before. She smiled and waited.

“Claire! I have-” he stopped dead. Claire sat on her side of the bed, beaming. And on his pillow, she’d placed the tiniest white onesie he’d ever seen. He felt the tears well up in his eyes, his heart fit to burst. “How long have ye known?” he asked, smiling from ear to ear.

“Not long, I wanted to make sure first. I… Jamie what have you there behind your back?” she asked, he’d been curiously standing with his hands clasped behind him. She stood up and came round the bed. She didn’t think it possible, but his smile got even broader.

“Just what took me to Broch Mordha today,” he said cheekily, backing away from her. He saw mischief flash in her eyes as she made to grab what he was holding.

“Jamie, what are you playing at!” she said, beginning to wrestle with him in earnest, but still couldn’t see what he held. He’d freed one hand and held her infuriatingly at bay. She was no match for his effortlessly strength.

“Where is yer patience, woman!” he said laughing, dodging and weaving away from her, keeping his back from her all the while. He finally grabbed her by the waist, pinning her arms to his chest.

“Jamie Fraser, if you don’t show me what you have in your hand this instant!” she wriggled madly in his arms. But she too stopped dead when he held out the wee-est knitted booties he could find - one pink, one blue - in front of her nose. Her body relaxed immediately into his. “You kept track? All this time… you kept track?” she whispered astounded, her finger running along one wee bootie.

“Ye havena been a day late in your courses in all the time since ye first took me to your bed, Sassenach. I hoped, but I didna want to assume just yet, but I felt it to be true, I could see it in your eyes, in how ye moved, the bonny flush on yer skin. And I just felt it in my bones.” He’d sat down on the bed, bringing her to sit on his lap. Her arms coming round his shoulders, bringing him closer so she could rest her forehead against his. Neither could have said how long they’d sat so, in each others embrace.

***

_1954_

 

 Faith held her newborn sister with as much precision and delicacy as one would a grenade. Nestled in bed between her parents, she watched her baby sister attempt to stuff her thumb in her mouth several times with no luck, before gently taking her wee hand and helping guide it to her mouth.

“Can we name her Smudge?” she asked.

Her parents exchanged an amused look. Faith had taken to naming everything Smudge lately. She looked up at them, waiting for a reply. Claire stroked her hair, the exhaustion of birth ebbing through her.

“We’re thinking of calling her Brianna, love. Bree for short. Do you like it?” Claire said.

Faith mulled this over for about a minute, then said, “Do you like Bree-Anna, Da?” looking at Jamie, who smiled, nodding.

“I do,  _mo chridhe_. But Smudge works too, don’t you think,  _mo nighean donn_?” he added to Claire who smiled tenderly back at him, shaking her head, then nodded at Faith’s look.

“Aye,” Faith said, looking back down at her sister, who’d started fussing when she realized her thumb wasn’t what she’d really needed. “Aye, I like it too. She’s a wee bit wrinkly now, but she gonna look like a Bree soon,” she said confidently.

Claire laughed. “You looked wrinkly too when you first arrived,” she said reaching for Bree and loosening her shift. “Here we go, Smudge, time for dinner.” Bree clamped down on her nipple eagerly and with a power Claire always found shocking.

“Aye?” Faith said, looking amazed.

“Aye, ye did,” Jamie said, taking Faith in his arms. She peered curiously at Bree feeding, then ran a finger down her sister’s cheek. “Ye looked just like yer sister does. Red with fury too,” he said with a laugh.

They sat in silence for a bit, the only sounds the crackling fire and Bree’s ferocious appetite. After a while, both Claire and Bree began nodding off, the day’s fatigue catching up with them. Jamie seeing Claire’s hands begin to slacken, took the wee one from her arms and placed her in the bassinet beside Claire, who gave him a grateful smile, but reached a hand out nonetheless and held Bree’s where it lay.

“Dinna fash, mama,” Faith said, giving Claire a kiss on the cheek, “Me and Da are here now, if you wanna go night-night.”

“What she said, my Sassenach,” Jamie smiled, crouching by the head of the bed and stroked Claire’s damp curls from her forehead. “We’ll watch over ye both. There’s the four of us now, after all.”

***

_1960_

 

 What the hell was she thinking? She had two children, a husband and a clinic she couldn’t bear being away from, how was she really considering going to medical school?

“Claire,” Jamie said patiently, as she had yet another attack of separation anxiety. “It’s not but three hours away - if that. Ye willna feel so far away.” It was true. He’d managed to organize a two bedroom flat for her near the university. One they could all stay at when they visited her on weekends and school holidays. “I promise ye, the lasses and I will be alright.  _Ye’ll_ be alright.”

Still, Claire paced their bedroom, her suitcases half unpacked once again. Jamie waited, letting her sort through her feelings, her contingencies, her fears. It wasn’t the first time she’d changed her mind - nor would it be her last.

“We’ll talk on the phone everyday,” she said, more to herself, Jamie thought.

“And the lasses and I will be there with ye the first week, helping ye settle in,” he put in. “It’s naught but temporary, Claire, just for when ye have to be near the university.” She stopped and looked at him, uncertain. He couldn’t help but laugh. He rose from his perch on the bed and went to her, rubbing her arms reassuringly. “You know, for someone who once pulled off one of the most audacious heists in recent memory, how can ye be so petrified about simply pursuing yer passion, yer dream?”

“Don’t you joke, Fraser!” she said, poking him in the ribs. “This isn’t anything like that and you know it. And there is nothing simple about it, I  _hate_ the thought of being apart from you and the girls for any amount of time. The girls need me-”

“Aye, they do, and so do I. But we also ken this is something ye need to do - for yerself, something we fully support you doing. ‘Tis only Edinburgh, Sassenach. We’ll do.”

He was right. As the years went by, Claire never felt herself absent from the lives of her family and neither did they feel her absence in theirs. Every birthday was celebrated together (be it on the day or the days that followed), every school play, every horse jumping competition, was attended by one or both parents. Claire’d talked to them every night they’d been apart, made sure they always knew, even if she wasn’t at Lallybroch, she was always with them nonetheless.

And so, as she graduated eight years later, Claire looked out into the proud, beaming faces of her children and teary husband, her pillars of strength, she knew with Jamie’s urging and unflagging encouragement, she’d made the right choice.

***

_1979_

 Claire watched over her family from her perch on a low, sturdy fence, the cool autumn breeze perfuming the air with the scent of heather and whisky. Watched her daughters - mothers in their own right now - her grandchildren running circles around their parents’ picnic area, deviling their grandfather, who despite his age was still full of powerful agility. Still full of life. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath in, letting the sounds of ecstatic laughter, shrieks of delight and mischief wash over her. She’d always felt at peace in Lallybroch, but to see life touch her family was a blessing she’d found the deepest contentment in.

She hadn’t realized how long she’d kept her eyes shut till Jamie slipped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“What are ye doing all the way up here? Yer going to miss Murtagh give Jem a proper arse scalping,” he said, she could hear the smile in his voice. Claire smiled, hearing Murtagh’s gruff Gaelic reprimands.

“ _If_  he can catch him, that is,” she said, watching as the young boy darted each and every way.

She reached back, burying her fingers into the damp hair at the base of his neck, gently scratching his scalp. He hummed pleasantly, long and deep. Claire had once thought seeing Jamie on their wedding day was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and it was, but as the years had gone by and she’d held her daughters and grandchildren, she still marveled at how endless that beauty really was.

“Ye didna answer me, Sassenach,” Jamie said after a long while.

“I just wanted to take it all in. I wanted to remember this, just as it is, with everyone here. Bree’s doing well after the birth - did you hear she’s thinking of calling the baby Amanda? And this is probably going to be last time for a long while we’ll all be here in Lallybroch before Bree’s well enough to travel back to MIT. And with Faith, Fergus and the kids fixing to make their move to Boston as well…”

“Harvard med school,” Jamie said in awe, “did ye ever imagine it? When she was clawing up yer skirts in the stillroom to see what ye were making or when she followed ye about the clinic like a second shadow, did ye ever think it’d take her so far?” Claire laughed as the memories flashed before her.

“She was always destined to go far. Her and Bree both. I’m just glad she’ll be close to her sister,” said quietly, leaning back into him. His warmth seeped through her shawl and dress. “Did Roger say when they’d be leaving?”

“Him and the lad will head back in two weeks, get things ready for Bree’s return and get Jem settled back in school. Faith and her man will wait to travel with Bree when she’s ready.”

They went silent once more, listening as Roger began dramatically playing his bodhran, everyone settling down to the rhythm, as Bree’s ominous voice caught on the wind, “ _It was a time two hundred years ago… It’s always two hundred years. When a fair maiden was forced to choose a suitor. From far and wide they came, each boasting an undeserved claim. But little did they know, a handsome lad with cat like eyes and jet black hair had from the start, already stolen the young maiden’s heart. And on the night she was to choose, her young man snuck into her chamber and left on her pillow, a string of rare Scotch pearls. She knew her love lay hidden that day, ready and waiting to steal her away. And so, making sure her suitors well into their ale, she played her part, “Who shall be the lucky lad that steals my heart?” she wailed. “I! I! I!” they all replied. But as they drank a toast to the fair maiden, they fell to the ground, one by one, never knowing she had slipped them more than just rum. She snuck from the great hall, necklace and all, and found her love waiting where he always did, and together they left the place she’d once called home, to build a life that would forever make each other whole.”_  

A loud cheer rose from the children and adults alike. The story of the young maiden and her pure of heart silkie had become a favorite over the years. Never a family gathering went by without a rousing telling.

“She gets that from you, you know,” Claire said quietly, feeling Jamie huff a laugh behind her, as Bree continued on with her story. So like her father in many ways, she’d been the only one of their two children to take his love for storytelling - if not always his natural flare. 

Claire had watched as her rag-tag crew of misfits had evolved over the years, taking on one new shape after another, all the while Jamie, her constant, her anchor, stood by her, as she stood by him, and together they’d forged a lifetime together, which they’d thanked God every morning and every night for.

“D’ye ever miss it?” Jamie asked suddenly. “The life ye had before. The glitz and glamour. The fancy parties and exotic locations? D’ye ever catch yerself wistful for it?”

She smiled. She had gladly left a hollow life for one full of meaning and depth. And love beyond imagining. She’d exchanged one life of intrigued and excitement for another - for having two stubborn and highly imaginative daughters, a husband who she found she loved everyday more than she did the day before, one never knew what new, beautiful adventure a new day held.  

It took Claire all of a heartbeat to answer him. “No,” she said, tightening her grip on his arms, and there was no hint of doubt anywhere in her voice or heart. There never was. “Not even for a fraction of a moment.”

## THE END.

***


End file.
